


The Little Lion

by hamiltonslaurens



Category: Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Gay John Laurens, Lams - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-03-21 05:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 33,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13734600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamiltonslaurens/pseuds/hamiltonslaurens
Summary: Hamilton/John Laurens (Lams) modern day AU.





	1. Description

Hamilton is struggling to juggle college work and his literary career when he is forced to collaborate with the aloof John Laurens. Things start off shaky but quickly escalate between the two men...


	2. All Work and No Play Makes Alex Fucking Tired

The frantic pitter-patter Hamilton's fingers made on his keyboard pierced the dead silence of his apartment, bringing some life back into the still 5AM darkness. He sat alone at his desk, leaning over the keys, his eyes glued to the screen as words made the quick journey from his brain into little blots of text. This was okay. He could manage this. A quick essay on a handful of Law Jargon, some acts, their lasting impacts, all of which he stringed effortlessly together into paragraphs and pages. He barely had to think about this. It came like second nature. Once he took notes at his lectures and did an hour or so of research, he very possibly could be up all night finishing an essay that had presented itself, fully formulated, in his mind. He wouldn't stop writing until he had it finished. 

Hamilton was ecstatic that he had been given the opportunity to study law. The coursework, however, was mundane. And besides, he had a thesis he was supposed to be working on. Of which, he might add, he hasn't even chosen the dissertation topic. This law degree, though mundane, was indeed time consuming. Even if he did write like he was running out of time. Which he was. It was 5AM. Sleep was but a social construct. His body disagreed, strongly, and the wave of tiredness he had been suppressing all day/night/morning, raised its head. Like hell was sleep a social construct, it reminded him. "Fine," he sighed to himself, typing up a conclusion, then shutting his laptop. There would be more time to write after he slept. Slept away time he could be writing. He sighed again, then headed for his bed. 

He was stressed (when was he not), on the brink of failure (he knew this and resented it with every fibre of his being), and alone. He longed for a warm bed to slip into in the early hours, a body that would complain that he wrote to much, but love him anyway. He needed the relief of unconditional love. 

His last love interest had occasionally spent the night, a woman far too old for him and with hardly enough brains for him to put up with. But he had adored her company, as he did anyone's who admired him. Such a shame she had wanted so much of him. Marriage, kids. Alex sneered, turning over, trying to make himself comfortable. He had known she was only temporary. He knew exactly what he was worth, and who was worthy of him. He doubted any woman would satisfy him. Men seemed to despise him. There was no winning. A cold, lifeless bed would have to do for now.

*

Working on a Master's Degree in English Literature and starting a degree in law was wearing him down beyond belief. On top of his academic pursuits, he also had to try to keep to his publisher's contract (he was really, really not). This stated that he was to produce fully-finished pieces to be sent to the editor every month and a half (the dates were set), something he'd been falling behind on for the last four. 

It shouldn't have surprised him, then, that he was startled aware a mere three hours later, by his phone ringing and his publisher's I.D flashing at him through the dark. He answered hurriedly.  
"Hamilton, yes..sir..., before you say anything I just want to sincerely apologise. It is inexplicable that I have fallen behind and I understand if you-"  
"Alexander, calm down." Hamilton gulped thickly. Somehow his unswayed tone was harder to take. "I am assigning you with a designated brief to replace your current free-rein situation. But only for until the end of this month. Please complete it. I will send you the details by email in the next few minutes." He was not sure whether to sigh with relief or refuse the offer. He has so much work to do already, but he couldn't let this job go.   
"Thanks, Jefferson, Sir," he muttered, the the tiniest pinch of gratefulness. It was only a minute later that his phone buzzed, an incoming email, Jefferson detailing his assignment. Already. When he opened the message it said only:

"Alexander,  
Let me know if you can make it to the office at 3PM. I'll meet with and introduce you to a collaborator I would like you to work with, at this time. Third Floor. Don't be late. Your job depends on it.  
Regards,  
\- Jefferson."

So that was it. But...a collaborator? Hamilton snorted. Jefferson was probably thinking that he had fallen into incompetence. It wasn't like him to fall behind on any work at all. He'd just been so busy. Why did he overwork himself like this? He was spending every moment he had free writing and typing. Word after word, line after line, page after page, day after day. It wasn't enough. Time always ran out. There was too much to do, too much to write down. Not being able to complete a task he had set himself made his heart heavy. He cared so passionately about law, about language, and about his own legacy and the legacy of what he wrote. 

Moments later, standing in front of his bathroom mirror, Hamilton pulled his long, black locks into a tight bun. Then nodded once at his reflection, to reassure himself. Reestablish his pride. Failure wouldn't define him. This probably wouldn't even be a failure. He knew he was the best at what he did, or would soon be the best. Who knew what lay in store. Who knew who this collaborator could be? It might actually work out for the best. Tilting his chin up, Hamilton resolved to just grab this day and get the most out of it he could muster. He straightened out the shirt he'd just changed into, then headed to the door. There were so many words to be written.


	3. Within Which He Meets John Laurens

Rain bit into Alexander's face like tiny harmless daggers as he cycled downtown, leaning his entire body weight against the weather. He loved New York City, but the autumn was truly miserable. 

Of course it was inevitable that the weather would stop the minute he wheeled his bike through the doorway of the publishing office. He quietly cursed the rain under his breath, ridding himself of his overcoat, now dripping wet. He slung it onto the coat rack to his left absentmindedly, one hand attempting to wring out the damp from his hair. He could handle rain. And he could handle this work. As his mind started to wander he reminded himself of where he had come from, how steep the rise to this position in life had been. There was no way in hell he was about to just sit back and allow himself any sympathy. 

Upstairs he was met by Jefferson and another man, obviously his collaborator, whom he hardly gave a second glance. There was too much going on in Hamilton's mind for him to pick up any detail in that moment. His mind was just racing ahead, trying to predict what task was lying in wait for him. It was true to say that this was unlike him. He was normally completely present when away from his work, and dead to the outside world when he was writing. Fixated by the possibilities of the brief ahead, he didn't pay much attention to the man, even when they shook hands and sat down beside each other, in wooden chairs on the other side of Jefferson's desk. Hamilton wondered if this was what it felt like to be called to the principal's office at school. He wouldn't have known.   
"So Alexander," Jefferson's words shattered his daze.   
"Yessir."  
"Mr John Laurens here needs someone proficient with use of the English Language to articulate his ideas," for some reason he sounded mocking, which caught Hamilton's attention only briefly before Jefferson continued, "I'm tasking you with narrating a publication of his photographic work." The air escaped Hamilton's lungs and he didn't know whether to laugh or protest. What was this? "This also includes a Q and A with the author and a biography. Laurens will write the first draft of the introduction, which you will rewrite. Mundane. Simple. Two week deadline. It sounds like elementary school homework. Do you think you can handle this at least? Until you get out of whatever rut you're in?" Alexander was set to protest, shout his opinions if he needed, until those last few lines. He felt embarrassment flush his cheeks. He should've known it would be a punishment along the lines of this. But what a cheap shot. Striking him where it would hurt, even if it was unintentional it made his jaw set.   
"Yes. Sir. However, I do not like my intelligence being undermined or insulted."  
"Then there will be no problem, as I did neither. If you ignore this task you can leave. I expect you put your upmost into this, as you should with all your work for this company." Hamilton sighed. He seemed to be doing so much of that lately. "Another thing. I have paired you with John Laurens because I see something similar in you both. From what I understand you have the same ideology and I think you'll work well together. So. You're okay with what I'm asking?"  
All he could do was nod. John Laurens replied with a quick "yes."  
"Good, good. I have organised the space beside the printers for you. The small studio/office space should work well with both of your needs. And so that you're out of my hair. If you need me, and please don't, I'm here. Again - it's due two weeks from today."   
Hamilton didn't appreciate this waste of time, as he saw it. He was coming to despise a boss he had once admired. 

He didn't wait for John Laurens, on the assumption that he knew where he was heading. Once he arrived at the small studio, which reeked of printing ink and mildew, he pulled out a notebook and began to scrawl down what he knew about this assignment (pointless, time-wasting, pointless). He then pulled out his laptop, realising he was wasting even more time mulling over something he couldn't change. He had a thesis to ...entirely do. He didn't even know what it was going to be based on yet. So much work to be done. So little time. 

Time.... it had been 30 minutes since he last saw the man who he was to be working with. Or for?? Thinking about it made his blood boil. He was worth so much more than this. This was child's play this was so below him. His time was worth more than to be wasted on a task like this. The more he thought about it the worse he felt about the whole affair. Just as he was about to get up to leave, to assign his time to something more worthwhile and wanting suddenly to abandon the late Laurens, the man strode through the doorway. He was about the same height as Hamilton, but of his features, he couldn't take much in, John had his face buried in his phone screen. "Sorry about the delay I got lost and had no directions.... I've just also realised that I have a dinner date I completely forgot about and my date is slating my ass right now. I'm so sorry, Alexander, I've got to go again. Right now. But see you at 8AM tomorrow?" Without as much as looking up, Laurens turned to leave. Was this kid serious?! Fucking about, wasting Hamilton's precious time? He had never felt so mad at someone he'd known for such a short period of time. How dare he? 

To burn off the anger, and to make sure the day wasn't completely wasted, he decided to cycle across town to Water Street and Bridge Cafe, which he frequented (almost every day). He spent most of his evenings and sometimes even until closing writing consistently at one of the seats by the window. They knew him so well that he didn't even have to place an order, he just gave the barista $10 when she dropped by his first cup and they kept the coffee flowing for as long as he stayed. He liked it black and by the gallon, so he supposed they thought he was low maintenance and humoured his caffeine addiction. Into his second hour, he was almost sure that he would start on the dissertation topic of 'The Contexts Which Influence Literary Sales," obviously changing and expanding on that title once his work planned out. He proceeded to write himself out of the mood John Laurens had put him in. When he was finally content with the work he had completed, he cycled home, ideas still overflowing in his head. At home, he didn't stop writing until 6AM, when he decided it was an alright time to head back to Bridge. Coffee would have to fuel his words today. Not that his work with John Laurens would need much awareness. He rolled his tired, heavy eyes to himself, just imagining what the day would hold.


	4. Blue Eyes and a Constellation of Freckles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Just to note - some of Laurens' character/features are based on Anthony (freckles) and some are based on the actual man (blue eyes). I'm not trying to make his character accurate to either, but a mergence of both*

Bridge was practically empty when Alexander arrived, some of the chairs where still sitting upside-down on tables as an employee swept the floor beneath half-heartedly. It was 6:30AM, the exact time the cafe was supposed to open, though the stream of customers was pretty much non-existent until 7. Hamilton sat himself down at the table closest to the door. He was occasionally so occupied with his work that he forgot about the time and space around him, and being this close to the exits allowed him to shift himself and his bike back onto the street in optimised time. 

Almost immediately a pen was in his hand, then scratching against the paper of his notebook. He was planning his day out, carefully dividing up the hours so that he could use his time to the upmost benefit. He wasn't even a page into his writing when a tall figure stalled beside him, then in one swift, even graceful movement, John Laurens was sitting in front of him, smiling wide.  
"Alexander! You're up early!" He chirped, way too happy for such an hour.  
"Call me Hamilton, please. And I haven't slept."  
"Oh right, sorry...." John's smile quickly faded. Hamilton hadn't bothered to properly glance up, instead he continued to write, his pen never faltering in its constant journey back and fourth across the page. He could observe his expression in his perceptional vision. 

There was a short silence before he caved into the feeling of guilt that had built up inside of him. Maybe he was being unnecessarily mean.   
"I trust your dinner went well?" He asked. Not that he particularly cared, but if he were to be spending the next two weeks with this man he might as well make conversation.  
"Oh...uh..." Expecting a cheerful answer, Hamilton disregarded his work momentarily to look up. 

Maybe it had been the looming possibility of getting fired when they were in Jefferson's office, and maybe it was the dark lighting of the studio... though Alexander knew it was more likely that he just hadn't paid close enough attention because he thought he didn't care. Regardless, he was caught completely off-guard by what he saw. The eyes staring back at him were some of the most beautiful he'd ever seen. They were the brightest blue, a colour that he couldn't ever have dreamt of on his own, but seemed so fitting for the eyes of the man sitting across from him. They also seemed as though they held so much more to be known, as if they were the beginning of the most beautiful sentence. His lips, at that moment twisted into a small frown, were full and all he wanted was for John Laurens to smile. He couldn't quite place why he needed that so intensely. Freckles scattered like stars adorned his nose and cheeks, such a cute feature Hamilton couldn't help but adore. He hadn't noticed he'd stopped breathing until his eyes met John's again. Hamilton was so taken back by how wholly attractive John Laurens was and how attracted he was to him. His chest had never felt so light, his ever-thinking brain started to cloud over.

"Ale-I mean-Hamilton?" The realisation that John had been speaking while he was admiring him snapped his mind back to the present, almost fully-aware, again.   
"Wh-what? Oh. Ah. Yes. Sorry, what?"  
"Did you really not hear any of what I just said?" His lips mimicked a smile. Hamilton's heart sped up once again.   
"No..." He knew he was blushing. What could he do?  
"You asked about my date remember?? It was terrible," he deadpanned.   
"Hahaaha women, right?" He tried not to think about how awkward he sounded and instead caught John's eye, raising his eyebrows, the question painfully obvious. John paused for a second, his lips turning up into a smile showing some brilliantly white teeth. Beneath the table, Hamilton was pressing the nail of his thumb into his forefinger, in an attempt to hide his reaction to that smile. That smile. He just about contained himself from returning it. 

This man wastes time. He wasted his time. Why the hell was he given THAT smile. And why was Hamilton disregarding everything he had previously felt towards him and towards to next two weeks he would spend working with him, so quickly??   
Again, shattering his train of thought came Laurens' reply, "No," he chuckled (Hamilton mentally added it to the list of things that John did which fogged his mind and stirred up that feeling in his chest, instantly), "I'm gay. So not a woman. This won't be awkward right?" He was shocked into silence for a second, and then just gave a quick nod. "Because if you're homophobic or anything, I'll have to get Jefferson to reassign me a narrator...I really can't stand people who don't appreciate that we're not all the same.."   
"John. It won't be a problem." Not at alllllllll.  
"Laurens, not John." He reached out to shake his hand. "I prefer my last name too. Oh and...can we forget about yesterday? We started on bad terms, right?? Sorry I had to bail..." Hamilton reached over, shaking his outstretched hand.   
"Laurens, let's let the past be just that."   
He replied with another of his smiles, paralysing Alexander's thoughts for a moment. "You know...Jefferson has been screwing me over recently, too. I told him that I moved from Puerto Rico, years ago. Years go. I have citizenship. I even studied in England for fuck sake. And he thinks I can't write. He knows I can! I've written for him before. But now nope. I can't even move on with work I've been trying to get to the printers for months." The hand he had been resting on the table clenched into a fist. "God. I wish I didn't need this job. I swear..."

The one barista, who had been sweeping the floor when he'd arrived, finally arrived at their table with Laurens' coffee, and accepted Hamilton's $10.   
"I'm a regular," he explained to Laurens' quizzical expression. He grimaced at how pretentious that sounded, then wondered why he cared about being pretentious when hadn't ever before. "Jefferson has treated me with respect," Hamilton admitted, "but I know it's just due to his fear that he will lose me. I don't care for the man..."   
Laurens stirred his coffee, not looking away from Hamilton, who had noticed those intense blue eyes seemed to be glued to him. 

He liked how Laurens dressed. He always seemed to be semi-formal, at least that was the case for the past two days away. That day he wore an expensive-looking waistcoat over a graphic t-shirt, paired with an equally expensive looking bomber jacket and chinos. For some reason the fact that Laurens has money intrigued Hamilton to the man even more. And his dress sense, too, made him seem even more attractive (how was that even possible?, Hamilton mulled). His hair was so curly, it looked as if it would escape from the hair tie which held it up. He looked like a Little Lion. Adorable and already elegant, but not totally wise, not yet. 

"Would you like to make up for the time we missed yesterday? I know it's early and you probably have a lot to write about, but we could head to the studio early and catch up for some lost time?" Laurens really was pulling all the right strings, and more likely than not he didn't even know it. He tried to pull what he said next off as a joke, but it was totally true and as much was obvious in the flirtatious ring to his voice.

"Laurens, a man after my own heart."

* * * *

Hamilton made the best effort he could possibly muster to avoid flirting with Laurens for the rest of the day. Even if he found him utterly intoxicating, he knew work came first and he was his coworker after all. He only allowed himself to breathe properly when he got back to his apartment. His hands trembled with all the words he needed to write, of this man with the heart of a lion, constellations on his cheeks, and a smile that could probably win the heart of even the coldest of people. He had so much to write about. There was so much to be done.

It was almost 1AM when he crawled into bed. He had decided to have an early (for his sleeping pattern, anyway) night. Just so that he would be more alert tomorrow. He didn't want to miss any detail of John Laurens' face.   
But he couldn't sleep. His heart ached for that man. And the loneliness he always felt seemed to be amplified as his heart yearned. He wondered if Laurens was asleep right now. He was probably up developing images in the darkroom he'd told him about, or drawing. He seemed as much a slave to his art as Alexander was to his words. 

He fell asleep a couple of hours later, thinking about Laurens, and dreamed about him too. Oh what luck it was of his, to fall so quickly and so terribly.


	5. The Correct Way to Waste Time

The next morning he left for the studio early, hoping Laurens had too. Even though he had only known that face for a day, Hamilton missed him so terribly. He wanted to spend every moment he was given around Laurens. He cursed the fact that he had a law lecture at 2PM, cutting his time with Laurens by almost two and a half hours. Rather than try to suppress how much that pained him, he used it as motivation and pushed his already burning calves as he urged himself to peddle even harder. He weaved in and out of New York City traffic the same way he'd done for most of his life. He knew these streets so well that he was sure his veins must have been mapped out the same, this city was so embedded into him. 

Laurens wasn't there when he arrived, so he again pulled out his phone and searched for the email Jefferson had sent him the night before, which included contact information for his coworker. He grimaced, remembering their relationship. Coworkers. That was such a compromising position. Jefferson was a snake for this. He bet that he knew how well they'd get along. He bet that Jefferson was sitting back, smug with the knowledge that Laurens would completely shake his world, and maybe even turn him into nothing more than an obedient pup. ...Hamilton had the tendency to overthink certain things. Once he had Laurens' number, he stood there, staring at his phone, completely confused as to what he was to do next. His initial intention was to text him but would that be intrusive? Nah.

Hamilton: Hey Laurens it's me, Hamilton. I thought I'd reach out to let you know I got to the studio early.  
Hamilton: If you can you can come down and we can get started on some work?  
Hamilton: Is this weird? 

It was weird. Why was he texting him? Why was he second-guessing every single thing he was doing?   
Hamilton sat, for once not pulling his notebook or laptop out straight away. Instead, he stared at his phone screen, watching the little blue text bubbles he had sent, his words were all so wrong. Where had his charisma gone? His intellect? Continuing to beat himself up over three text messages he'd sent to his coworker, Hamilton didn't hear the door to the main building open. When Laurens breezed through the studio door, he jumped.

John Laurens smiled down at him, a stupid grin on his face as he smiled through a bush of those amazing brown curls. "Your hair," he blurred.  
"Morning," Laurens laughed. Hamilton had not been expecting the feeling in his chest that he'd felt yesterday to be back so quickly. But there it was, swarming like a cloud of butterflies or angry bees, it was such a loud feeling, if feelings could be such. "Ya I thought I'd leave it down today." He shrugged. It took every piece of strength Hamilton had not to imagine himself holding Laurens' face while they kissed, his messy, soft hair getting in the way and neither of them caring. No, he totally was not imagining that.   
"It looks great."   
"Thanks. I got your texts? Not weird, by the way." Without waiting for a reply, Laurens pulled another chair towards him, turned it around and straddled it with the spine in front of him. He crossed his arms, placing them atop the chair's spine. Then then looked up at Hamilton and gave him a smile. Half of Hamilton was screaming 'why is he sitting down across from me as if we're about to have a lengthy chat? This man is the epitome of time-wasting'. However, the stronger side was yelling back twice as loud 'Alexander, this is exactly what time is supposed to be wasted on.' Laurens dropped his chin into his crossed arms, still appraising Hamilton. There was no way they were going to survive the next few weeks. At least Hamilton wouldn't, anyway. This man was too attractive, too alluring without even knowing. There was no way in the world his heart could take not speaking out on how it felt. He had too many words he was trying to keep contained inside of him. And Laurens wasn't even speaking at that moment, just stupidly grinning at him. What did that even mean, anyway?

"Quit that," Hamilton snapped, colder than he actually meant. There was no change in Laurens' face, but he still felt bad. How many times would he snap at this man? He had nothing against him anymore, only the hold he had, ever-tightening, on his heart.   
"Quit what?" Laurens feigned innocence, still smirking without relent.   
"Looking at me like that." John Laurens' only response was a raised eyebrow. "You know exactly what you're doing."

There was a slight pause and the room was so quiet that Hamilton could hear the printers' mechanical thuds next door. Louder than them came the racing pulse of his heart, thumping against his rib cage with unstoppable force. It would never be satisfied until it had broken free and was running wild from his mouth, spurting words into the air between himself and Laurens. 

"Hamilton, I really have no idea." He laughed, but it was more of a nervous chuckle that the one which stirred a storm up in Hamilton's chest. This did the contrary, this worried eyes and that disjointed chuckle quietened it, and he listened, curious. "That's why I keep fucking up dates and man..I don't even know. I'm normally so confident you know? I just really have no idea what I'm doing. And you're fine as hell. But? I'm not a flirt. It's one of those things that I just can't get. You're seriously cute. Wait ..you do like me right I'm not just mistaking vibes?" Hamilton's breathing ceased for second as he tried to come to terms with this new information. Okay so Laurens had just verified that their feelings were mutual. He felt like he was back at school, finding out his crush liked him too all over again. He felt like a child, or maybe a more appropriate description would be a flounder. He felt like he was way out of his depth. No other man, or anyone, had ever impacting him in this way before. He couldn't even fully comprehend the entirety of what he was feeling. This would come to be a normal circumstance he faced when with John. 

"Laurens I like you a lot." So it was out there. Laurens allowed his eyes to catch Hamilton's again. They were smiling, so full of happiness that he couldn't help to return it with a smile of his own. This is how it would be. Hamilton didn't mind. Maybe they weren't going to get much work done, but this little, hardly significant task, wouldn't be at a great loss. He was sure that the end product would still be great. Maybe he should be thanking Jefferson for this whole state of affairs.  
"Great," Laurens finally replied. "Hamilton, do you want to go for coffee? It's still early.....I promise I won't waste your time."  
"Laurens, I'm betting that time wasted on you isn't even truly wasted at all."


	6. Those Who Stand For Nothing, Fall For Anything

Walking across town to Bridge was something Hamilton had never wanted to do before. Cycling there was a task in itself. Either you had to navigate through dense crowds of traffic on some of the busiest Manhattan streets, or alternatively you could take a longer route which added almost 30 minutes to the journey, (on foot) but was a lot quieter. That day, he didn't mind the lengthened journey. Even if it was starting to freeze and he had decided against wearing a thick coat. Even if his bike, which he towed along beside them as they walked, was making the muscles of his lower arms cramp up. These seemed to dull because walking beside John Laurens could trump any minor grievances. Hearing him talk about whatever came into his mind, laugh at his own jokes, and smile over, their eyes meeting briefly before he was back to his ramblings again, it all filled Hamilton with so much lightness and relief. Sensations which he had long considered lost. 

There had been just a second of a lull in their aimless conversations, when Alexander's phone started to vibrate in his pocket. Initially annoyed because someone had the audacity to interrupt his time with Laurens, this was added to even more when he realised who was on the opposite end of the line.

"Burr," he groaned.   
"Alexander!" He winced in response at the use of his first name. "I called to ask about how your last essay went! I know you've been struggling a lot with your thesis too, just wanted to check up and see if it's all going good!" Hamilton highly doubted that Burr really cared about his wellbeing, but they had been friends for a while and the possibility was not completely out of question. Always passive-aggressive, their friendship had been founded on their mutual competitiveness, something which had resulted in countless short-term and long-term arguments over the past years.   
"It's all good, Burr. I trust you are too? Have you found out what you want to do yet? With your..life?" There was a hint of a joke in his voice and a smile did flicker across his lips, but the question had been based on fact. Burr had no clue. Which allowed a lot of leeway for Hamilton to poke at his character. It wasn't necessarily an unhealthy friendship, they did, half-consciously, push each other to be better people.   
"I'm good, Alex. Are you going to make Lee's lecture today?"  
"I'd rather not but yes."  
"He's a good professor, you just need to-"  
"Burr, listen can we continue this conversation in class? I'm sort of preoccupied at the moment. And I'm sure as always you'll want my undivided attention?" The last sentence came out as a bit of a sneer, not totally rude, but more hostile than Hamilton normally was. What could be do? Burr, a man who regularly wasted his precious time, was doing so now with time he could be spending with Laurens.   
"Of course. I'm sure you'll need the time to catch up."  
"To you? Never. I'll see you in class, Burr."

Once he hung up, he looked over to Laurens. His brow was furrowed, gazing straight ahead and distant. "Hey, Laurens?"  
"That was Aaron Burr right?" He replied softly, snapping out of his daze and facing Hamilton again.   
"We go to class together. Weird friendship. Built on passive aggressiveness. You know him?"  
"Ya... God I hate him. Sorry." His pace faltered a bit, and Hamilton slowed down to make up the space, so that they still we still side by side. "I know he's your friend-"  
"Hmmmmm," he objected half-heartedly.  
Laurens continued, "He always turns up at the protests that I attend, telling us we should stay quiet... just last week I was half-documenting, half-participating in a protest about how racist the judicial system is.. and he interrupted a speaker, politely sure. But what he said.." Laurens shook his head. "He went on and on about how we should stop, stand down, keep quiet about things. How now that the government know this doesn't work, they'll fix it. What type of bullshit?? As if the root of the problem isn't systematic racism that's been there since the start of this country." Laurens was visibly angry, his fists clenched, shoulders tense. This all took Hamilton by surprise; how angry Laurens was, how much of a stir Burr had caused.  
"I wish I could say that I didn't believe that, but it sounds like something he would do. He always tries to defuse the wrong debates. He stands for nothing. Really, pay him no heed, Laurens." 

Hamilton found Laurens' passion for a cause which he, himself felt drawn to, such a nice surprise. Going to protests, trying to make a difference, these were things he wanted to do, was trying to do and someday knew he would totally devote himself to, through his writing. Burr was a man of such dishonour, he thought. How the hell could he act against those who were trying to do right? Laurens' heart was so parallel to his own, with every word he knew that he was more alike this man anyone he had ever met, their minds were almost completely aligned. He reached over to Laurens' shoulder and squeezed it. If he had been there, Burr taking over and spewing shit like that, he wouldn't have been able to let him off so easily. 

*

It was almost 11AM by the time they reached Bridge. They'd made their journey even longer by passing through some of Central Park, taking their time and enjoying the brisk morning air. Hamilton was so glad to finally be able to leave his bike down, both of his arms, which had taken turns and wheeling it around, were almost dead by the time they walked through the doors of the, now densely populated, cafe. The bike didn't weight much but anything at all was amplified greatly by the length of the walk, how much ground they'd covered. It didn't help that he had a slight frame, he didn't work out as regularly as he should, finding it a waste of time he could be allocating to other tasks. 

Laurens took the bike from him and leaned it up against the wall beside their table. "I don't know why you don't just Uber."   
Hamilton shrugged. "It wakes up my senses quite a bit. Especially when I've only had three, two or no hours sleep."  
Laurens gave him that beautiful smile, shaking his head. "You're really fascinating, you know that?"  
"I've been called such, not in as little or as complimentary words, but...thanks." Lame. God why were his words always so unprepossessing when he was around Laurens? It was like his attraction clamped down on his tongue, muted some of his intellect. This man fucked him up beyond compare.

"So...," Laurens, who had been staring at his hands, locked gazes with Hamilton's again. Those blue eyes held him, he felt actual warmth radiating between them. He wondered if Laurens felt all this. "So. Are you...free tonight? After your.. class or whatever it is? Do you want to hang out, maybe get a few drinks or something? I know this is nice and all but you've to go soon. You know, just have a nice night with no...limitations? Time-wise I mean..." Laurens' face got flushed and he awkwardly laughed, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. Hamilton had never seen a sight cuter. Why was this man single? There must have been a reason, he was too perfect to still be up for grabs. Maybe Hamilton had just come at a good time, been lucky.   
"Laurens. I would really love nothing more than to spend this evening with you. Text me a time and a place once my lecture is over? As soon as you know where."  
"Yes!" Laurens' enthusiasm made Hamilton beam right back at him. "Yes, okay great! I think I know a place."

*

Weaving in and out of traffic to get to the University on time, Hamilton couldn't shake Laurens' smile from his mind. He was sure that he had asked him out on a date. He'd ask him once he got to the bar, he promised himself. For now he had to face Burr and another of Lee's tedious lectures. Being honest with himself, he didn't mind the wait.


	7. Let Him Lead My Heart

The Hall was completely empty when Hamilton arrived, twenty minutes early. His intent was to leave John Laurens as late as he possibly could - 20 minutes early seemed so late to him. Taking his regular seat, second row and centre, he pulled up the fold - table which slid from beside the armrest of his seat with only a small rusty squeak in protest. There was so much to write about, but Laurens was occupying so much space in his brain. Without even realising what he was doing, his pen was on paper, scribbling down frantic words with such haste he was sure the page was going to set alight. 

Alexander was hunched over those pages about Laurens when Burr's voice startled him, out of seemingly nowhere, ten minutes later. "Hamilton, catching up on your work, I believe?"   
"You wish, Burr," he snorted. "This isn't work, but also isn't much of your business, either. Can I ask why you're ten minutes early, when you're normally ten minutes late?" He grinned, loving the back and forth between them. For some reason, even though a substantial part of Burr's personality annoyed him, he found him an entertaining person. Almost as quick-witted as he was and always up for some passive-aggressive dialogue, their friendship was solidly love-hate.

"Do you know a John Laurens? Tall, bushy hair, blue eyes. Resembling a lion in all aspects." He asked, prodding, wanting to unravel more of Burr's character than he had ever previously wanted, or dare to.  
"Yes. John Laurens. The activist? Photojournalist? He's an arrogant, dim-witted clown. A dangerous disgrace, if you ask me. Do you know him?" Hamilton swallowed, his jaw jutting out in what felt a lot like unbridled anger. This was going to be a problem. Aaron Burr, his first friend, rival, enemy, felt so strongly towards Laurens. And Laurens hated him right back. Of course, keeping them out of each other's way wouldn't be a problem, but if he was to actually date Laurens his presence at protests would get more than a little awkward.  
"We're working together. I really admire him, to be honest. He's a good man."  
"Oooooooooooooooooooh shit. Alexander don't tell me you're into him?" Hamilton sighed. Of course he would be able to tell, of course. It was Burr for fuck sake.   
"Aaron, just try not to fail, you seem soo swept up in other people's relations-"

Just as he was about to serve Burr with another of his legendary burns, Lee rushed to his desk, papers unravelling and leaving a trail behind him, so theatrical Hamilton had to chuckle. This guy. "Burr, I'll catch you later. Text rather than ring, okay?"  
"Sure. Have fun with Laurens," he replied with a wink, teasing and so sarcastic. 

Hamilton didn't lie when he voiced his disinterest and disgust in Lee's teaching methods. The guy was a mess. Once he made a point he retreated back on it, changed it up, spewed out some other bullshit and then retreated on that again. There was no learning in his lectures. Not wanting the time to be wasted, Hamilton continued the seemingly endless pages of writings about Laurens. He hadn't even intended it to be so, but they turned into a long letter of pining and longing for the man. They started:

My Dearest Laurens, 

I wish, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you.  Though you should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent, you have, and what has been done to my heart by your grace, is done.....

It continued for pages, but as he reread it, he knew he was coming on far too strong. Love? They'd only just met. He knew he loved those eyes and that smile, but he also knew that love was not something to be thrown around, and not something he wanted to throw upon Laurens without his mutual understanding and consent (not that John Laurens had given him much in the way of consent when he lured him into falling, with those breathtaking features and soft voice...). Hamilton had known too much of love, maybe, to be fully sure that it was requited when it came to Laurens. Too many times had he rushed in to love, so sure, just to get his heart beaten and silenced beyond repair. He carried all of those heartbreaks with him, he had been doing so since he was in middle school and the first girl he loved spat in his face. He had known her since he was four and when he finally plucked up the courage to ask him out she had been so repulsed, he response was to. Actually. Spit. In. His. Face. 

Obviously John Laurens wasn't like this, but the heartbreaks that had followed hadn't made it any easier for Hamilton to trust his own instincts. They haunted his very idea of love. He had chosen the temporary over the long-lasting for so long, he knew Laurens could possibly end that, but he needed time to pull his heart back from the unnecessary pace it was racing towards John at. 

He looked down at his pages of writing again. In front of the class, Lee bounced around, his stupid haircut bobbing and waving in awkward directions as he lost his train of thought and faltered for the third time in one sentence. Hearing him speak didn't even deter Hamilton from thinking about Laurens. As he scanned what he'd written, he saw Laurens' face and knew he'd be waiting for him later that evening, knew that'd they'd go out to whatever bar Laurens chose, and he knew that he'd fall even further in love with him. What was the point of trying to hold himself back? All he had to do was remember that face and all his principles were out the door, running far, far away. 

As if reading his mind, a text from Laurens lit up his phone. 

Laurens: Hey, Hamilton. Still up for hanging out tonight? We can do dinner if u don't feel like drinks? Miss u already ;)

Fuck the heartbreak, fuck the chance of getting his heart broken by John Laurens. It would be such a pleasure. He decided, then and there that he'd give Laurens the letter. All of it. All eight pages. Oh god what was he doing?! Falling, yes, but so carelessly??

Hamilton: Maybe dinner would be more appropriate ;) You tell me when and where. I miss your eyes, Laurens. Make it soon, I need to set mine on you ASAP. 

Cheesy. But screw it. Screw holding back and screw his past loves. Laurens was the only one that mattered. Let him lead my heart, Hamilton thought, letting a smile befall his lips, totally smitten.


	8. The Words Love Create

It was so unlike Hamilton to stay silent in class, to let Lee ramble on without clashing once with him. He knew that Burr had noticed his silence, but rather than attempting to explain himself, he slipped out before the class had even ended.

The note for Laurens felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket. He'd made sure to place it in the left breast pocket of his coat, on the inside, so that it would be both kept safe from any potentially ruinous weather, and close to his heart. Hamilton had already prepared himself for his heart to be crushed. This man was so monumental. He couldn't compare him to any god or goddess that had ever been so gracefully imagined. There was no way he was going to regret falling for him, no matter what the outcome may be. The momentary uncertainty was getting under his skin, however, so by the time he'd crossed the city again to arrive back at Bridge, he pulled out his phone and text Laurens.

Hamilton : Is this a date?

Almost instantly, John responded.

Laurens : Wasn't today 1 also?   
Laurens : Where is this coming from? Are you ok Hamilton? 

Hamilton : I'm okay. Needed to clarify.

Laurens : I thought I made it pretty clear ;)   
Laurens : I really like u, Hamilton.   
Laurens : Don't keep forgetting!!

Hamilton : You'll just have to keep reminding me ;)

Laurens : Okay ...let me see..

Hamilton : Oh, right now? Laurens, you spoil me

Laurens : ;)   
Laurens : As I was saying..  
Laurens : Hamilton, ur pretty perfect

Hamilton : Just pretty?????

Laurens : oh my GOD STOP INTERRUPTING ME. Ur so much more annoying via text... :P  
Laurens : I'll send u the location of the bar   
Laurens : Does 7 sound ok? I don't want 2 leave so long before I get to see that cute ass face

Hamilton : Sounds great, Laurens  
Hamilton : I think I may have come up with a plan to make you completely fall for me. Just so you know..

Laurens : OH really?  
Laurens : I'm intrigued..  
Laurens : Sadly, all I've got's my damn good looks 

Hamilton : True Dat 

Laurens : omg you used slang  
Laurens : It's a Christmas miracle lmao  
Laurens : Talk later, you

Hamilton : I'll hold my heart for you 

Laurens : That's gay but I dig it

Hamilton couldn't stop smiling down at his phone. What THE FUCK. His coffee had gone cold while he'd been absorbed in the conversation. The waste of a perfectly good cup didn't even bother him. Even texting Laurens was absolutely exhilarating. Thinking of tonight seemed almost unbearable. The short hours felt like far too long. It took him a while to shake himself from his daydreams, but once he was back to the present, he set himself the task of perfecting the letter to Laurens. Maybe he should condense it?? Eight pages might seem like a bit much....

Time's a funny thing. Waiting for 7PM to roll around was painstakingly hard for Hamilton. Never before had time seemed to go so slowly, or been of such little use. He cycled back to his apartment, which sat above a small corner store, a fifteen minute cycle from Bridge. It was an old building and had been renovated many times over, but never properly. It looked decent from all angles, but when sharp winds blew, his window might as well be pane-less. Not somewhere he'd like to take Laurens back to, if that ever happened......he tried his best not to let himself imagine Laurens, curled up around him in his bed, sheets pulled up around them, finding warmth only in each other. His knees felt weak. There was nothing Hamilton wanted more, in that moment, than to be able to wake up beside the sleeping John Laurens and offer him a good morning kiss. He could almost imagine the feeling of the skin of Laurens' forehead as he pressed his lips against him gently, so as to not wake him. Sleeping with any of his past lovers had been challenging at best. They took up so much room, wanted to be as close as possible - suffocatingly close. There was no way, he was positive, that he'd ever feel this towards Laurens. He'd never felt this way towards another person. It was making him question whether or not he'd ever fully known love.

*

Hamilton debated getting an Uber, then realised he had no clue how to use the app. Taxis repulsed him, anyway, and he preferred the solitude of cycling. So that's what he did, as soon as Laurens sent him on the Google Maps location. Laurens had chosen the Fraunces Tavern, Which Hamilton actually knew quite well, and which he knew Burr enjoyed frequenting. As did Washington, Hamilton's old English Literature professor. This had the potential to be very awkward, he duly noted to himself. 

There was a constant babble of voices, not yet raised in intoxication, when Hamilton arrived at the door of the Tavern. One of the bar-tenders was kind enough to help him with his bike, and put it behind the bar so that it wouldn't get in the way. While this was happening, he let his eyes scan the room. Obviously not just looking for Laurens, but additionally, for Washington and Burr. In the midst of a sea of unfamiliar faces, some beginning to grow red from laughter and the small quantities of alcohol consumed so far, he saw John Laurens. In a little booth, quite close to the bar, but still tucked away to one corner out of the immediate rowdiness, sat the very man his heart sang for. With a contented sigh, both due to gratitude that Burr wasn't there, and with the knowledge that he could relax and actually enjoy himself without thinking about work, he strode towards Laurens. 

Already drinking Sam Adams from the bottle, Laurens jumped up to greet him. "Hi! I thought you'd got lost..." They hugged and right away Hamilton wanted to live every single second as close to Laurens as he was for that brief instance. Hamilton sat, unable to keep his eyes from Laurens'.  
"Do you want a drink??"  
"Sure, thanks. A Sam Adams?"  
John winked at him, "you betcha."   
Well? Fuck you too, Laurens, Alexander thought to himself. How was that legal? To be so handsome? He snorted, annoyed that he felt so much from something as simple as a wink. While Laurens was momentarily gone, he pulled out the letter he'd condensed to two sheets of paper, and began to read over it as quickly as he could. 

Laurens was back before he had the chance to even finish rereading the first page. He sat down at the other side of the table, tucking a stray curl behind his left ear, such a simple yet absolutely entrancing movement. Then, he slid Hamilton the larger he'd bought him, with a curious grin. "What's that? More work?"  
This was it. His shot. He wouldn't throw it away. One chance to vocalise his yearnings for Laurens he thought, his intense mind spinning more rapidly than even when he was writing the most complex of essays. This was it.   
"It is quite the opposite, actually..." he let himself inhale sharply, before continuing, "This is my heart, Laurens." 

All he could do now was watch as that very heart was being dissected right in front of him, Laurens' eyes lapping up. Every. Single. Word.

Finally, those beautiful blue eyes met his again, and all of his most precious time, came to a standstill.


	9. Floor Plan of Head and Heart

Laurens took his sweet time, what seemed like an eternity, to read the two pages. As Hamilton watched on, the bright eyes which he had come to adore so much grazed over the words he had written. Words which held so much weight, he swore they were an accurate floor plan to his head and heart. All the while, anxiety built up within and tightened his chest, causing him to down his first drink in one long swing.

"Well, okay, first of all," John Laurens cleared his throat, startling the already panicky Hamilton. Ever momentarily coy, Laurens just smiled for a drawn-out second, before letting out a quiet laugh. "You're so wound up....it's adorable. Your writing is really fucking good I can't believe you actually wrote this. And that it's... like ..about me?? I don't know what to say, Hamilton, this is definitely the greatest thing anyone's written me, and ..consider me wooed. As fuck." When this was met with no response, Laurens added, "Again, also really gay. I dig it. And you." With another, this time more nervous chuckle, he added, "I don't know what to say.. you have me tongue tied...help?"

Finally, Hamilton forced himself to speak, but he felt hardly in control of what was coming out of his mouth. There seemed to be nothing tying him down, he felt detached from the moment, like he was floating. To bring himself back down, he focused his eyes on the condensation racing down the side of the glass that sat in front of him. Anything but Laurens' eyes. He couldn't even breathe anymore when he looked into them. "So you aren't terrified away by my forwardness? Or accusations? You really do steal my heart, as you do my breath and ...sanity, more often than not.."  
"Of course I'm not scared, Hamilton. You know I like you, and you've really fucked me up too, man." Hamilton directed his gaze back to Laurens, who was visibly blushing. "Ya. You really have. I don't know...how long have we known each other now? Two days? I can't stop thinking about you..." He looked down at the pages, "I'm glad that's mutual."  
"As am I. My heart has never felt so aligned with another's.." Laurens' smile made his head spin. Or maybe it was the alcohol he'd consumed so quickly. The smile definitely played a part, though. "Do you want another drink?? You got my first, it's only chivalrous.."  
"Sure. Be quick." Laurens winked as Hamilton stood and he swore, this man would be the death of him.

The area immediately around the bar had become crowded and boisterous, something Hamilton wasn't made aware of until in the midst of the massive mass of bodies. Being not an exceptionally tall person put him at a disadvantage, and was one of the most obvious reasons why he didn't notice Burr until he was pushed right up against him by a drunken patron.   
"Sorry.." Burr muttered, then realisation dawned, "Hamilton!! Hey! What brings you to this side of town??"  
"Burr," he gave a small nod in recognition, then sighed. "A date."   
"Oooooh a date? Explains the rush earlier..."   
Fuck my life, Hamilton thought. This was just his luck. "With who?" Burrs eyes seemed challenging, he must have assumed Hamilton would lie to avoid conflict. Which was absurd because Hamilton was generally always at the forefront of conflicts. Generally. This wasn't really conflict. Just awkward. And he hated it.   
"John Laurens."  
Burr just stared for a second. "What are you drinking?"  
"A Sam Adams..."  
"And Laurens?" Confusion must have flashed across Hamilton's face, because Burr rolled his eyes and added, "I mightn't like him. At all. I might despise him. But you're a friend, however you may feel towards the use of the word, and I'll buy my friend AND his date a drink."  
"Are you drunk, Burr."  
"Maybe."  
"Okay. Good. I was getting worried for a second.." Hamilton was only half-joking, and he knew the same was true for Burr.   
Once Burr handed Hamilton the two bottles and Hamilton thanked him, quite awkwardly, they parted ways. 

"God."   
Laurens shot him a perplexed look once he sat down, with a loud groan. "Burr was at the bar. He bought our drinks. I'm assuming that he's drunk, and he said as much but..."  
"Wait. What?? Burr's here? That ass better not crash this date I swear..."  
Hamilton grinned, "He won't, don't worry."  
Laurens gave him a toothy smile in return. "Good. Missed you. You took so long.."   
What an adorable fuck, Hamilton almost forgave him for butchering his heart every time he smiled. He would have happily sat and just stared at those lips for the night, but he did want delve into serious and personal conversation with Laurens. All their conversations previously had been either steeped in work-related inquires, interrupted by phone calls or other responsibilities to be tended to. He wanted to take this opportunity to actually get to know Laurens.  
"Sorry, the crowd's intense... so, Laurens. Let's talk."  
And get to know him he did. While he watched the man who resided so predominantly in his heart reminisce, laugh, slip into moments of quiet as he recalled a more somber moment of his life, he couldn't shake the urge to close the space between them. He wanted nothing more than to be closer, for Laurens to whisper all these parts of him and his past into his ear, his lips and breath touching Hamilton's skin with every word. The feeling of needing something so detailed and definite was like an itch, which Hamilton only seemed to be able to keep at bay with the regular consumption of alcohol. 

Laurens told him about his family, how they moved from poverty and raised him as best they could. They'd made a new life in New York, and had opened a really successful aquatic pet store in Brooklyn, which is where Laurens' love for marine life took root. He'd had a very short stint shooting photographs for National Geographic, but it was too competitive a company, he'd explained, and he was home sick for New York. Once he'd arrived back he'd thrown himself into activism and used his medium to document protests and political matters. Hamilton explained how his parents had died when he was young, leaving him with a fortune and a drug-addicted brother who squandered the aforementioned fortune. By the time Hamilton began to talk about his writing and political stances, the room had begun to spin around him, and his words came out much sloppier than intended. Only five drinks in. He was becoming a lightweight. Or maybe intoxication just seemed to be sped up around Laurens, he was additionally getting drunk from every word his love spoke.

* 

The room was spinning so it was fair enough that Hamilton though himself to be imagining it when Burr unsteadily sauntered over, himself quite parallel to Hamilton in state of drunkenness. 

Vaguely, he remembered Burr shit-talking Laurens on abysmal scales. This memory a blur of fury. Another blur, as if someone had actually touched the memory and smudged it, and he was standing, on legs that felt like stilts. In an instance Burr was on the ground, and Hamilton was staring down at his bruised knuckles, tiny droplets of blood starting to swell but never fall, they defied gravity and he seemed to too. How was he still standing when his entire world felt like a hurricane? It only slowed and started to clarify when he felt Laurens' hands around him, pulling him away from the scene, and out the side-door of the bar. He couldn't hear what he was saying, his alcohol-stained memory blurred words and fuzzed even Laurens' beautiful features. The next clear memory was of Laurens returning, he must've gone back inside, with a glass of water. Hamilton was sitting in the gutter, he knew himself he was swerving in and out of consciousness. How had he possibly gotten this drunk??? There was another blank spot in his memory, and then something much clearer; 

In the back of what was probably an Uber, he stirred back into consciousness on Laurens' shoulder.   
"Hey," Laurens whispered, and Hamilton sat back just enough that he could see his face. Still drunk and not totally with it, Hamilton smiled back at him.   
"I'm drunk."  
Laurens laughed, threw his head back. "Yes, you are."  
"Where are we? What did I do? Burr? My hands.."  
"You punched him," to his surprise, the smile didn't fall from Laurens' face, "because he was talking shit about me, you punched Burr. It was a good hit, he fell. And he's, like what?? Two? Three inches taller than you? It was really cute. But also, not. Because we probably won't be allowed back there, ever. And we're in an Uber-"   
"Of course."  
"-On the way to my apartment. I didn't know your address and there's no way I was letting you cycle back in that state. Though you wanted to."  
"D-did I ruin? It?"  
"What?" Laurens' smile fell, giving way for a small, worried frown. "Ruin what?"  
"The dattttte."  
"No. No. We shouldn't have drank so much, but I really enjoyed it. And I don't mind taking care of you when you're drunk, you're cute as fuck."  
"You're...fuck...cute.." Hamilton babbled, sleepiness starting to blur things again.

"Shh, baby. I got you." Laurens cooed, stroking his hair. He fell asleep like that, at least momentarily, and with Laurens stroking his hair and the alcohol still burning a riot in his stomach, he felt so content in that moment, even if he was about to pass out, again, drunk, in the back of an Uber. Laurens was stroking his hair, talking to him. Content.....


	10. The Bond of Shared Solitude

The rays of sunlight shifted, now falling over Hamilton's face, quickly coaxing him awake. A groan escaped his lips. He felt terrible and the sudden change in light wasn't helping the splitting migraine forming behind his eyes.   
"Oh, hey," he heard John Laurens whisper beside him. Immediately all memory that hadn't been completely clouded in drunkenness, came rushing back. He smiled at that last piece of the night he remembered, the soothing sensation of Laurens running his hands through his hair and the word "baby," being whispered to him with such love. 

Trying to move slow enough to insure that his head didn't implode, Hamilton turned to face Laurens. He was met with the brightest smile. Laurens' face was so beautiful, seeing him just awoken seemed like seeing him at his most raw. He slid an arm around Hamilton's waist and pulled him closer, until they were holding each other close enough to feel each other's heart beats. "Morning," Hamilton finally replied. He let his nose touch Laurens', so softly. One of his hands tangled itself in Laurens' hair, holding his neck, caressing both skin and hair with his thumb. Their lips met slowly, gently. Hamilton smiled into the kiss, noting how sweet and careful Laurens was with him. The hands against his back slid up to his shoulders, and when their lips parted they let their foreheads rest against the other's. "Laurens," Hamilton breathed, just because he wanted o hear his name aloud. 

"You punched Burr."   
"Great."  
"It was heroic. My drunken hero."  
"I can't believe you didn't get drunk."  
"It was only 5 pints, Hamilton."  
"I know but..." he signed, "I guess I was nervous and hadn't eaten. I was drunk off every word that spilled from your lips. I don't know."  
"Maybe you're just a lightweight," Laurens met his eye again, to wink, teasing.   
There was a lull in conversation for a moment, and Hamilton used the opportunity to place quick kisses along Laurens' cheeks and nose, tracing his freckles like a traveller would follow the stars. 

"You're too perfect, Alexander," Laurens whined. Somehow hearing his first name in that voice gave it so much more appeal, and for once he didn't mind it. At all.   
"You're perfect," was the greatest Hamilton had in him to retort. His head was still, maybe, killing him, and it didn't help that Laurens' eyes had hardly left him since they'd awoken. He felt so devoid of air, like he was drowning in the oceans that were John Laurens' eyes.

"Do you have classes today? We could just work from here if not.."  
"Oh shit." It was bright out. Fuck. He'd missed his first class. "What time is it?"  
"11:30AM"  
"I had a lecture at 8:30AM.." he smiled, "I'm not going to fret, though. The longer I leave it until I see Burr again, the better. It might make it less awkward if his face isn't swelled to twice its size."  
Laurens nodded. "True.."  
"Hey, Laurens?"  
"Ya?"  
"You know the way you called me baby in the Uber last night?"  
"Mayyybe," he shot him a joking wink. He'd begun to run his hands through his hair again, gently teasing out any small knots and twisting it in and out of his fingers absentmindedly. Hamilton couldn't think of anything more relaxing.  
"Well. Dating has been...let's just say complicated for me recently. In all honesty, I haven't had a proper relationship in years.. and I was just wondering if you wanted to give it a shot? You've infiltrated my defences, yes, but I was of knowing and I just want to mean something? I want this to mean something."

Laurens kissed him, harder this time, holding his face in both hands. "Yes." He said in between kissing him. "Yes." Their lips met again. "Yes." Hamilton let his lips retreat from Laurens' long enough to let out a laugh, then fell back into his embrace. Time was maybe being wasted, yes, but he didn't totally see it that way. He felt like he was fulfilling his purpose just being there and kissing John Laurens. The lack of space between their bodies seemed more important and far more urgent than any words written or typed. Yet, he knew no words he wrote from there on out would go untouched by the love he felt towards this man. 

*

They'd fallen back to sleep, curled up against each other, when Hamilton's phone buzzed. Enjoying this newfound comfort and the unfamiliar feeling of a good nights sleep, he didn't move to answer it, but when it fell silent again and a text came in, Laurens reached over, grabbed it and handed it to him. "It might be important. I don't wanna be getting you in trouble or anything." He smirked, so adorable. He had sat up in the bed to reach the beside table, and it was only then that Hamilton saw his bare torso, how his freckles spread across his shoulders, scarcer, and dotted his chest occasionally. Trying so hard not to get turned on, he found himself appreciating how toned Laurens was. This also made him feel terrible about how skinny and repulsive his own body was in comparison, and he sank down further beneath the sheets to try to cover the top half of his bare chest. While he'd been passed out, Laurens had taken his shirt off and folded with his trousers beside the bed, and he was grateful. Sitting in the gutter had made them gross and he could smell them from where he lay, a good number of feet away.

When he reached over to take his phone from Laurens, he let their fingers touch for long enough to make Laurens smile wide. But both of their smiles faded when they sat back down and read the message together.

Burr : Hamilton, I'm sorry about last night. The things I said about Laurens were uncalled for, but you need to understand that not everyone is going to agree with you.   
Burr : But also, fuck you.   
Burr : Let's agree to never get drunk around one another again?

Hamilton sighed. "Now I feel bad. Do you remember what he said about you? I was too drunk.... Help me feel less abominable?" He curled himself around Laurens again, propping his head on top of his chest. The warmth of his skin felt so great on Hamilton's, he tiled his head to place a small kiss just below his collar bone.   
"Well. He insulted my intelligence and intellect, first off, then went on to rant about my political thinkings, telling me I was brainwashed by my cause....a lot of bullshit, really. You seemed to be the one paying more attention. He really riled you up."  
"He has the tendency to do so."  
Laurens' hand found Hamilton's hair again and he sighed. "I don't get how you're friends with him. I know you just punched him, but you'll pretend like nothing happened, right."  
Hamilton shrugged. "I don't know. I've never punched him before this is setting a new bar."  
Laurens laughed in response. "We should probably get up, and get to work. Jefferson emailed earlier, when you were sleeping. He wants to talk to us tomorrow, on how we've been doing."   
"Shit."  
"I know. Literally nothing. We haven't wrote a paragraph."  
"Laurens, what are you turning me into? Who is this monster who strikes their friends and falls behind on work?" He sighed. "I'm glad it's you I get to write about. You know.." He kissed his chin, quickly, in recognition. 

"Love is a sort of insanity....and I know that everything I write will savour strongly of it."


	11. Love as a Dictator of Time

The struggle to keep his eyes on the screen and from wandering to Laurens' butt, was a hard one. Hamilton sat at the kitchen table, a tall marble-topped island, and typed slowly on Laurens' laptop. It wasn't his fault that he was getting so distracted. How could it be? Laurens was standing scouring his photographs, tens of which were laid out on the counter, trying to organise them into what he felt would suit the layout of the publication best. He had his back to Hamilton and since he was sitting and Laurens was standing, it was impossible to ignore the fact that his ass was practically eye level. He let himself pause, his fingers hovering above the keys briefly, to allow himself one last glance. What a cute butt. Reluctantly, he sighed, about to turn back to his work.

Before he could advert his eyes, Laurens was facing him. One he'd realised what Hamilton had been transfixed by, he tutted, a small smile brightening his features. "You're supposed to be working."  
"You're just. Enchanting."   
Laurens had to cross the space between them, Hamilton saw in his eyes the fiery need to be closer, he himself felt it swirling in his gut. He pulled a chair towards him and straddled it as he had when they were showing the first signs of flirtation, in the studio. Mere days felt like weeks, but Hamilton could remember everything of Laurens' movements, words, and how they'd affected him then. Nothing had changed, he still felt a multitude of things when Laurens let their eyes meet. 

He sat close to Hamilton, mere inches from him, letting his chin again fall into his crossed arms atop the spine of the chair, and titling it forward so his face was even closer. "Kiss me," he demanded, ever so quietly.  
"What about work?" Hamilton joked back, but before Laurens had the chance to reply, he'd closed the space between their lips. They were so soft and full, and kissing Laurens, Hamilton was sure, had to be one of the most agreeable deeds that could be committed. It was Laurens who pulled away first, titling the chair back ever so slightly so that their lips were no longer touching, but they still felt each other's every breath. "Alexander-"  
"You're the only person I'll allow call me that, you know. It's such a beautiful name when uttered by only you." Laurens' smile beamed back at him, toothy and crinkling up his face in the cutest way possible. Hamilton couldn't keep himself from kissing his nose.   
"I'm glad. I like the way it sounds." He winked, to punctuate, and probably Hamilton thought, because he knew exactly how much it fucked him up. "Anyway I was going to ask...will you come with me to a protest on Saturday? Against modern-day slavery. In America, you know down in Florida on the tomato farms....there's so much of it, fuck I hate the way this country is sometimes. It's so backward..." His eyes flickered from Hamilton's, to the floor, his face clouding over into a tight scowl. When he regained his composure, he continued, "Its on in the commons, midtown, I think it starts at noon... you could stay over on Friday night or I could pick you up that morning?? I just really want to show you that part of my life."   
"Laurens, I am of the perception that this means a hell of a lot to you. And you, you know, mean a hell of a lot to me. So of course I'll go I would love nothing more to spend my Saturday in your presence."   
Instantly, Laurens was smiling again. "Yes, aw babe you can meet my friends, they're so great. They'll love you so much." Hamilton nodded, excitement growing and so many thoughts buzzing around like the swarm of bees that they were, inside his head. Laurens told him about Lafayette and Mulligan, how they'd inspired him and his work to become even more political.

Hamilton loved nothing more than to watch him talk about the affairs and people he was passionate about. He sat quietly, not even letting him mind wander to work, but entirely devoting his attention to the man who had caught his heart in such a stronghold. Every now and then, he'd reach over and tuck a stray curl behind Laurens' ear, or cup his chin and brush their lips together in a fleeting, light kiss, so as to avoid discouraging Laurens from talking -he didn't want to interrupt him by altogether making out with him. Laurens finally paused, and bit his bottom lip. "Burr will probably be there. I hope that's okay?"  
It wasn't, not really, thinking about it made him minutely uncomfortable, but Hamilton knew that spending the day with Laurens would always effectively compensate for any shit that Burr caused. "It will be. I'm not afraid to punch him again if he comes after your character, though. Nobody fucks with my Laurens."  
In return, he received a long kiss, Laurens smiling into it and reaching over to hold his face, letting his hands slip through his hair. "You're the best."  
"Not at all." 

*

It was 9PM when he finally summonsed up the courage to leave Laurens, though it broke his heart that he'd have to sleep in a cold bed again. There was such a massive part of him that wanted to do them right. Yes, he craved Laurens and his company and love, but he didn't want to rush their relationship. He knew this wasn't just a normal romance, this was probably it, Laurens had taken up most of the space in his heart and there was no way in hell that could be reverse now. Not that he would ever want it to be. So he went home, knowing that he'd see Laurens in the morning and he'd be able to spend tomorrow night with him. There was no other comparison he could put to it, other than feeling as though he were hooked on the strongest drug. His heart felt so soppy for this man. Oh, how much he was changing him.

Hamilton sat up all night, his desk lamp the only light source in his apartment, feverishly writing about Laurens, page after page. He couldn't stop, the words didn't seem to cease. Love was dictating not only every minute of his time, but every flick of his pen, every single letter he typed, it all echoed how he felt when he looked Laurens in those perfectly blue eyes, or when those freckles were all squashed up against each other as he smiled. 

He called Jefferson at 5AM.  
"I have something. A lot actually. Can you publish it?"  
Half asleep, the voice on the other end grumbled, "Was it truly necessary to call me at this time? You're a pain, Hamilton. When will it be ready to be sent to the editors?"  
"Right now, actually."  
"And how many pages?"  
"I don't know....I've written sixty tonight alone."   
"Jesus. Christ, Hamilton get some sleep. I'll call the phone in the studio at some point tomorrow. Email it to me then. Understood??"   
"Yes, thank you so much, sir. Really, you won't regret this."  
"I am already," Jefferson mumbled before he hung up.

Leaving the desk light on, Hamilton threw himself onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, imagining how Laurens' face would look when he read what he wrote. He couldn't stop smiling.


	12. Take a Break

When Jefferson called, just after noon, Laurens got to the phone first, to Hamilton's dismay. Anxiously surveying Laurens' face, he breathed a sigh of relief when he eventually passed the phone over, though not without a look of confusion.   
"Jefferson." Hamilton winked at Laurens and mouthed a quick 'Thanks,' heading to the door. He didn't want Laurens to hear in case he asked for specifics.   
"Alex listen, I've been talking to the editor and they can get this to print, depending on the size, within the next few days. What format do you want it?" He didn't even start with a hello, but Hamilton hadn't either so.  
"A stand alone publication. A book of poetry. Letters."  
"Well, we can't do that we can post it in the paper like we normally-"  
"A book, Jefferson. It'll make sense when you read it."  
"You know some of the funding will have to come from your own pocket. We can't just keep giving you everything you ask for, you work for me you know this? My rules."  
"Yes, Sir."  
"Good. $2,000 for the first round of print. Email it on to me and transfer me the money ASAP and I'll get it out there and promote it as quickly as I can."  
"Thank you, Sir."  
"This better be worth it."  
"It will be." Hamilton could hardly contain his excitement, "I promise, Sir. It'll be great." 

*

They worked tirelessly all day until 8, when Laurens finally sat down next to Hamilton and put his hands over his, stilling the fingers that hand been typing with such haste. "Hey, it's late."   
For the first time in hours Alexander dragged his aching eyes from his computer screen. "I didn't realise.."   
"You can leave your bike here if you want I'll get us an Uber."  
"Of course," Hamilton chuckled. Once Laurens' hands left his, his fingers were back to swiftly typing.  
"Hey, stop that."  
"Make me," he teased, half-challenging.  
Laurens promptly accepted that challenge, snaking his arms around Hamilton from behind, and kissing his neck without any signs of relent. Those lips on his neck, Laurens' hair tickling him and getting in the way of the screen, he really was overpowered here. The tension in his shoulders and hands eased and he sighed, totally giving in. "You win." Laurens pulled Hamilton's chair back, so that it was at enough a distance from the table. He then sat on his lap, straddling him and the chair, and towering over him with a priceless grin. Hamilton's hands held his waist in place. Laurens' elbows fell upon his shoulders, his hands burying themselves in his hair. The sensation of being so surrounded my someone so beautiful constituted Hamilton's eyes to close involuntarily, a tired and contented smile taking over his lips. 

"You're cute as fuck when you're tired. But you should learn how to relax, take it easy, babe."  
Hamilton's eyes reopened, he knew how he looked. A mess. He was working on so little sleep, stress pulled at his eyes. Obviously, the furthest thing from cute, Laurens was only trying to flatter him. It was working, though.   
"I have come accustomed to most definitions of most of the words of the English Language and Laurens, unfortunately I've never learned what 'relax' really means." He didn't want to talk about work, or how little he'd been doing recently. There was not enough time for all his words, and not enough time to spend with Laurens. Balancing the two would be hard, he knew this.  
Laurens kissed his cheek, so tenderly. "Relax with me this weekend. After the protest. Stay with me. Take a break, god knows you need one. We'll have pizza in we won't need to cook. We can get up late and make breakfast at 1PM and just walk around Manhattan and take in the day. It'll be so nice, Hamilton. We can just cuddle the day away." 

Trying not to wince, his brain screaming no, he let out the quietest sigh. "I would love nothing more. But I've a thesis to write and so much Law coursework to get through...I've so much on my plate.." Laurens was giving him puppy eyes. Which were actually more affective than any he'd ever seen. Those blue eyes just had their own way of burning right through his chest and into the depths of his heart. "Laurens...." to avoid giving a straight answer, he pulled him closer, until their lips met. Hamilton's were chipped and he knew they probably felt so uncomfortable against Laurens' perfectly soft pair, but there was no complaint made. 

Everything slipped away when he kissed John Laurens. There was no outside world with endless words and thoughts screaming for his undivided attention. There was only the space where their lips met, that point in the universe being the pinnacle of everything that meant anything at all. Laurens' nipped at his bottom lip gently, grinning while he did so. Hamilton couldn't keep himself from smiling to, and wrapped himself around John. When he let his face fall away from Laurens', he buried it in his chest. "Let's spend the weekend together. You're right, it'll do me good."  
"When am I wrong, Alexander," Laurens radiated nothing but happiness and it was so contagious.   
"Don't flatter yourself," he teased back, letting his lips fall against Laurens' yet again, but only briefly. He then sat back, tilting his head back. "I've been writing you. But I can't show you just yet. You'll like it, though."  
"Hamilton....stop fucking with my heart. Your words are beautiful they fuck me up...I might actually pass out next time around, just a word of warning."  
"We'll see." Laurens bit his lip, raising an eyebrow, so curious. Hamilton could only hope that what he was doing would win Laurens' heart. Not that he hadn't already. He just needed, his heart craved, understanding on the level he was sure he was going to get. That meant writing every single thing he felt about Laurens down. And ...you know. Publicly publishing it as a book??

Fuck. What was he doing?


	13. Moonlight

Laurens fell asleep early, dozing in Hamilton's arms by midnight. There was such grace in that sleeping face. His body was sprawled out on the bed, Hamilton occupied only a tenth of it, but John still managed to lie with his head and an arm slung across him. It was a battle to get out of this hold. Hamilton tried his best to avoid stirring his sleeping boyfriend - (?) he guessed he could call him that at this point - from his slumber. He moved around him and slid off the bed in a few delicate movements. Laurens' breath only stilled for a second, and when he realised that he'd been successful in his escape, Hamilton let out an almost inaudible sigh. 

Before leaving the room, he bent down and fumbled about in the dark, searching for his bag, which he'd left somewhere at the bedside. Once he found it, he grabbed his laptop and then headed in the direction of the kitchen, picking his steps carefully in the pitch black. Out in the kitchen, the moonlight poured in through the curtain-less windows. Hamilton placed his laptop on the marble table, and then stepped around it, making his way to the window. He had written Laurens. Written him well. It was enough, he knew. But there was still something inside him that knew the words he could write for Laurens would never stop flowing, if he let them. There was too much in his heart to contain. Even inside a book that extensively detailed a lot of it. 

He stood in front of the window, watching the Manhattan skyline glimmer before him. What a perfect city to fall in love in. Jefferson would have the first copies of the book printed within the next week. He'd have a copy of it in his hands before Christmas. And a copy for Laurens. His smile was shaky as he thought about it. No one made him as nervous. He turned away from the window, leaving the city behind him. It was so easy to get caught up on love, but he still had so much to do. As much as Laurens wanted him to relax and take a break, Hamilton knew he couldn't commit himself to the idea wholeheartedly. And besides, Laurens actually had a reasonable sleeping pattern, which gave him time to catch up on lost hours. 

He had just finished another essay offering opinions on the judicial system, a month early, and submitted it, when he heard footsteps crossing the threshold of the room.   
"Hamilton...come back to bed." He sighed. Maybe his plan was futile. When he felt Laurens' hand on his shoulder, he knew it was. "It's cold without you. C'mon you promised-"  
"I know, I know." He closed his laptop, giving in. Laurens looked good in the moonlight, it seemed to drip off his body. Little flickers of blue light darting back and forth against the dips of his skin as he moved. Hamilton stood facing him, just staring for a second, totally enchanted. When they kissed there was nothing but light. 

*

"I'm so fucking tired," Laurens grumbled.  
"You shouldn't have woken up last night," Hamilton replied with an unsympathetic shrug, but gave him a kiss anyway. He was already dressed and ready to go, but Laurens had still to leave the bed. His curls poured over the pillows, messy from his restless ways of sleeping and seeming ever more plentiful.   
"You shouldn't have left me. Not my fault I love you too much." There was silence between them for a minute, as they processed what had been finally said. It was not a grand gesture or moment, but it was one which would never leave Hamilton's memory, or mind. Laurens' eyes were searching his, begging for the answer Alexander knew he'd provide. There was something in his heart that cemented in place, at that very moment. Something massive and so important, but something that he couldn't place or pin down.  
"I love you," Hamilton whispered, falling back into bed beside him. "Too much."  He traced Laurens' jaw with his thumb, so lightly that their skin was just hardly touching. When he reached the curve of his chin, he pressed on it lightly, then kissed the lips above.

*

"Oh shit," Laurens said, staring at Hamilton, just as they left the apartment to head to the protest. "Oh shit. Shit. Shit shit shit." Hamilton frowned, quizzical. "Babe, let down your hair. Please. Fuck I'm sorry."   
"What???"   
"I ...aH." Awkwardly, Laurens reached over and rugged out the hair tie which had been holding Hamilton's hair up in a perfectly constructed bun.  
"Hey! What the fuck??"  
Laurens leaned over hurriedly, his lips close against Hamilton's ears. His words came out in a rapid hurry, "I gave you a hickey, Alex." He sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just below your ear. If you tuck your hair like..." He reaches out to touch his hair again and pushed it behind his ears, smoothing it out and attempting to cover the bruise.   
"Laurens, it's okay. It's just a hickey. And besides, I don't have classes until Tuesday." Hamilton touched his boyfriends cheek, giving him a reassuring smile until he returned it. "Don't stress."   
"You've to meet my friends and I just thought...Jesus Christ I should be more careful. I'm not even out to my parents, if one of their friend's saw..."

Oh shit. He wasn't out? Hamilton thought about his words that had already gone through the editor and were probably being printed at that very moment. Why did he name Laurens?? He could have just left it anonymous...  
"Are you okay?" Laurens' sweet voice scattered his thoughts.   
"Yes. Ya. Sorry, darling, I'm fine."   
Laurens' smile to the pet name made his heart soar. No, he was doing the right thing. No doubt. No one but Laurens would probably even read it, anyway.

* 

They were late to the protest because Laurens kept stopping Hamilton to fix his hair so that the hickey wasn't showing. Half-annoyed by Laurens excessive obsessing, Hamilton also found it half-adorable as fuck. Laurens was carrying a number of protest signs he'd made for his friends earlier that morning, and every time he stopped he had to sent them down, then hold Hamilton's face still while he fiddled around with his hair. He couldn't say that he was bothered. Any attention from Laurens made his heart race. 

When they finally arrived on the common, Laurens tip-toed around, trying to find his friends over the heads of the large and ever-expanding crowds.   
"They said they'd be here by now...they should be around here somewhere..."  
Not knowing what they looked like, Hamilton could only follow behind him sheepishly.   
"I can't see them I'll just-"   
They both saw him at the same time. Burr.  
"Fuck," they simultaneously groaned.   
He was standing with a handful of people protesting the protest, a concept in itself, stupid. They had placed themselves by a large tree in the centre of the crowd, another stupid move, Hamilton thought, sneering to himself. They were surrounded by people who didn't share the same ideals. He could already feel his blood beginning to boil. 

Things were about to get interesting.


	14. Of Conflicts and Anxieties

"Burr!" Hamilton raced towards his 'friend,' pushing through the crowd to get to him, leaving Laurens to watch on. "What are you doing here?"  
"You know I always come out to these sort of things..."  
"So are you just opposed to everything anyone else stands for??? Do you actually stand for anything, Burr? What are your ideals, what do you want for America can you write down an itemised list?" Hamilton was being aggressive, but he knew he had the right to be. The black eye he'd given Burr was staring back at him, reminding him of even more reason for his anger.   
"And you're just here because your boyfriend brought you along. Would you really be here otherwise, Alex? This argument is pointless. You have as little reason to be here as I."  
Fuck. Him. Anger turned to fury which quickly turned into a severe rage, growing stronger, at the back of his throat. He was so ready to tear into Burr. While he had used his fists to do so when drunk, he could now use his sober, clear of mind, words to bring this disgrace crashing to the ground.  
"Burr, just because Laurens has allowed me a platform and place to bring my opinions, doesn't mean I am in any way parallel to you. Don't even think that we are alike in any way beyond our intellect. And even that is to a point, because yours falls behind mine and we both know it."   
Laurens had caught up to him at that point and caught his arm.   
"Hey. Don't."   
"Why not? He's protesting a protest against slavery??? This is so fucked up Laurens, I cannot let it slide. How dare he?"  
Laurens sighed. "I know, but you've already punched him. And besides, there's hundreds of us and just three of them, they don't matter. We're out here to show people we care, we don't have to get into fights and I'm just..I don't want you to give him another black eye..or you know, get arrested.." Hamilton couldn't say no to that small, worried smile.   
Turning back towards Burr, he reluctantly growled, "Burr. Get fucked," then let Laurens escort him away.

*

Jefferson called him a few hours later, while he was in the midst of chanting crowds, the protest in full swing.   
"Jefferson...I'm at a protest on the commons I'm sorry if it's a little loud.."  
"That's okay, Alexander. I need to talk to you about the publication."  
Hamilton slipped away from Laurens, Lafayette and Mulligan, whom he had been introduced to earlier, and found a quiet space towards the back of the crowd where he could have a little more privacy.   
"Yes?"  
"Well...you're gay??"  
"Uhm. Yes."  
"And ....dating John Laurens?"  
"........Yes." He hadn't even thought about the fact that Jefferson had paired them up and knew they hadn't met before then. They were working together and he'd just outed them both to their boss. Fuuuuuuuck.  
"You see why I'm calling you? This was just. A lot."  
"I'm sorry, Sir I-"  
"It's okay, don't apologise. The writing's good, you might actually make us some money again. I'm just a little surprised that you're... gay. I would have expected as much from John, but you're well..." So Jefferson wasn't just racist but also homophobic? And he just wanted him for the money he'd gain? Hamilton felt exploited and anxiety was making his chest tighten so much that he couldn't breathe well. What if he fired Laurens? Hamilton couldn't shake the growing feeling that he'd made a terrible mistake. "Anyway. It's already gone through the printers. Things are slow right now. We're not getting a lot of new work sent over there at all regularly, meaning that they could run it quicker than expected." Brilliant. "I'll get a copy to you tomorrow, or you could come in now..."   
"Thanks, Sir," The words came out tense. Every part of Hamilton's body was tense. Fuck. He had to tell Laurens. "Uhm...Sir.. this hasn't compromised the positions of me, nor Laurens, yes?"  
"Of course not, Alexander. As long as this makes me the money I know it will, you two can do whatever you want to in your spare time."   
Now why the hell did that sound like a threat???

*

"Laurens." As soon as he returned to the crowd, he was dragging his boyfriend out. "I need to talk to you it's exceptionally urgent..crucial, even..."  
Laurens let Hamilton pull him by the sleeve, back to where he'd paced about on the phone to Jefferson.   
"I've fucked up. Big time. Darling..." Hamilton didn't want to let go of his senses to the extent that he'd give in to crying in public, but he was coming really damn close. Laurens hugged him gently, sensing how immediate those tears could be. "Shhh. You're okay. I have you. What did you do that's fucked you up this much? Babe.. you're one of the most brazen, brave, headstrong, bold ...I could go on? - people that I know. What's up?? Is it Burr? Because I can show you that I, too, can kick that motherf*ckers ass..."

Hamilton shook his head, and grabbed Laurens' arms, drawing himself closer, for both comfort and grounding. "No, no. It was me. All me. Every last aberration.." His lips trembled, words coming out broken, disjointed.  
"Tell me.." Laurens breathed into his hair, kissing the crown of his head, gently.   
"Laurens...I wrote you. A lot. So many pages of essays, love letters.. I sent it all to Jefferson to publish.. your name is in it...it's already gone to the printers'..." He took a gulp of air. His words were all spilling out way too quickly. His brain could hardly keep up. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking.. I ...shouldn't ever have dreamt of it. I just wanted to see your face when you read it or saw it in a store and knew that those words were from my heart and to yours...you must forgive me. I'm so sorry... I thought you were out..."  
Laurens inhaled, sharply and gave himself a few, painful moments to reply. They seemed like weeks, months, centuries. "No, Hamilton, the only people I'm not out to are my parents. Fuck Jefferson. Fuck everyone else I really don't care... You wrote me a book? Like a full book? Fuck. What??? Hamilton.." Laurens wrapped his arms around his waist again, and let their foreheads touch. Hamilton watched his eyes close and mirrored the action. He felt as they were alone, even if there were in a busy park mere meters away from a massive crowd of loud protesters. The world slipped away. It was just them. 

"That's the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done. And the most extravagant. And it's the most You thing... I should have expected this much..." Laurens kissed his nose. "You're the greatest thing to ever happen to me, Alexander. And you're definitely the only person whose ever treated me this well.. with this much love."   
Sighing with relief, Hamilton allowed himself to lean against his boyfriend, anxieties dispersing slowly. His heart ached for them to be truly alone, so that he could allow his heart to completely spill from his lips and into the air between them. He would, he knew. So soon. He was so glad that Laurens loves him. He was so glad that they'd found each other.

"Never let me go," he whined, anxiousness still tugging at his thoughts. How close that had been. If Laurens was someone else, of a different character, his heart could've been torn to ruins in just a moment. And it would have been all self inflicted.   
"Of course." They kissed on the common and were happily cheered on by some stray protesters who happened to witness the sight. Oh how love was this strange, unifying thing. Hamilton couldn't remember a time when he thought so highly of it.


	15. The Unfamiliarity of Tiredness

When the protest wrapped up, it seemed that the entire crowd made their way back to Laurens' small apartment, for a sort of after-party. Which did seem kind of counter intuitive to Hamilton, but he went with it. Laurens was happy, he hadn't stopped smiling since he'd told him about the book, and that was truthfully all he cared about. The masses of bodies swarmed around the tiny space, drinking, laughing and talking hurriedly about campaigns and causes close to their hearts. Hamilton didn't know how he was keeping his cool around so many strangers. Someone he didn't even feel awkward at Laurens' side, he made him feel welcomed and included in whatever was happening.

"Do you actually know all of these people?" Hamilton asked, quietly. Laurens had been chatting to almost everyone he came across, and Hamilton had heard so many new names his head throbbed. Sure, he was able to absorb and retain whatever information Lee ranted on and on about, but remembering names had never been his forte.   
"I've met a lot of people, travelling, studying, working, you know?? We've kept in touch and somehow, it seems everyone ends up in New York. It's just a given," he explained. "It's generally the same people at all these protests.. or friends of friends I know everyone, though. Maybe not well, but enough to have a few words to say to everyone, it keeps me going for the night." He lifted a shoulder.   
"How do you do this? I'm tired watching you..." Laurens just smiled and kissed his forehead.   
"It'll be over soon."

Bodies started to slowly filter out during the early hours of the morning. Lafayette and Mulligan were the last to leave, and they grabbed the last of the pizza that Laurens had ordered, on their way out. "Wow, inconsiderate!" Laurens joked as he shut the door. "They're good guys, though. You'll probably get to know them better soon."   
Hamilton nodded, feeling completely drained, for once. "Are you okay, Alexander?"   
"Tired." It was only when he said it, that he realised he could hardly stand.  
"You? Tired? Really?" Laurens sighed. "We'll watch a movie? I can get you soup or..."  
"Coffee?" Hamilton poured slightly, begging Laurens not to question the request.   
"It's ..2AM...but okay anything for you.."  
Hamilton sighed. He was so tired. This wasn't a good feeling and certainly something he hadn't felt so intensely in so long. He was lacking caffeine, that was surely it. Fatigue was pulling at his eyes as much as gravity was his body. "I think I'll lie down.."  
"Are you sure you're okay? Babe..."  
"I think so? Be quick I'll miss you." Hamilton shot him a reassuring smile. He may have been the type of person who could live off 2 or ..no hours sleep at times, but he guessed that his body was just retaliating.   
Laurens reluctantly let him go.

Laurens' bed was such a welcome embrace. Just letting his thoughts settle for a while cleared his head quite a bit. Jefferson knew about him and Laurens. Laurens knew about the publication. Laurens loved him. What had he done to deserve such a swift change in circumstance over such a short amount of time? His life had just fallen into place before his eyes and sure, there was so much left to be done, but he was getting closer to knowing exactly what he wanted. And succeeding. Once he started getting more work out there, into print, his options would open up even more. 

Sleepily smiling into the sheets, Hamilton felt satisfaction wash over him. The man with those oceans of eyes, those constellations of freckles and that lion heart, that man was his. Hamilton listened to the kettle boiling in the other room and imagined Laurens standing by it, imagined how much of a fool he probably thought Alex was for not wanting to sleep. But he hadn't even questioned it, not really. His love showed through so much within how he put up with so many of Hamilton's quirks. Hamilton was dreaming of Laurens' lips when he felt his boyfriend's weight dip the bed slightly. 

"Hey."  
Hamilton rolled over onto his stomach and propped himself up, blinking the sleep that was already forming in his eyes away. Laurens had let his hair down and slipped into a loose sweater, looking every bit as cute as Hamilton had been dreaming. "Damn you look good," he noted, tiredness quietening his voice down to a husk. Laurens grinned.   
"You're fucking ridiculously gorgeous yourself, Hamilton." He sat up, moving closer to Laurens and taking the offered cup of coffee from his hands. "You know, you shouldn't battle sleep like you do." He reached over and pushed some wild stands of Hamilton's hair behind his ears, delicately. Hamilton hadn't noticed how messy it had gotten in the few minutes he'd been passed out. Laurens then traced his thumb over the bags under Hamilton's eyes. "Why do you do this to yourself? I know you work so much, you're basically non-stop...but don't you ever want to just? Take a break from it all? Rest for a while."

He thought about it for a second, taking some tentative sips of the black coffee Laurens had made, just strong enough. When he replied, he surprised himself with how truthful his words were. "You're my rest Laurens. You're the time I give my brain to stop thinking about work. When I focus on you, on this. That's all I need. It's all I can afford...really..I need to do well in my courses. I will have time to rest once everything's out there, every piece of my mind. Thought. Word..."   
"I admire you for that," Laurens replied, smiling. "Just make sure you think of your health, too. Ya?"  
"Sure." He sat down the cup of coffee, on the beside table. In doing so he had to lean over Lauren's folded legs. When he sat up straight, again, he shifted his weight so that he sat in Laurens' lap, his legs dangling off the bed, at either side of John's waist. "I missed your lips, John Laurens."  
"As I missed yours, Alexander." They cracked up every so slightly. Laurens' hands held Hamilton's face as their lips met. "Hey," whispered Laurens after a moment.  
"Hey."  
"I just thought of something..."  
"Yes?" Hamilton, unable to get enough of Laurens, placed a trail of slow kisses along his neck as he spoke, ever so often tickling him and causing the most adorable exasperated giggles.

"Well..I want to spend tomorrow with you but I promised my parents I'd visit them upstate...they have a really nice little estate by the most beautiful lake. When they retired my dad got into real estate as a sort of? Hobby, I guess. But he's been so successful. I'm so proud of both of them. It's really nice up there.. and I'd really like you to meet them. I know it hasn't been long at all, but they're such a big part of my life. And my turtles! You can meet them too! I'll introduce you as my co-worker to my parents, obviously, but it'll be sweet..." Laurens had probably realised he'd begun to babble and abruptly stopped talking, waiting for Hamilton to reply.   
Moving away from his neck, he traced his lips up to Laurens' and nodded. "Yes. I'd love that, darling. I can woo your parents, make them love me..." he laughed, but it was such nervous laughter. "I want to thank them for bringing someone as beautiful as you into the world. Do you think that'd be an appropriate way to break the ice?" They smiled at each other and Laurens shot back an equally as joking "that'd be perfect."   
"God. I really am tired though. Is this how you live? Every day? It's... so much weight how do people cope?"  
"We don't," Laurens shook his head, still smiling. "We don't cope, Hamilton, we sleep." 

Well, that explains it.


	16. Natural Beauty and Forced Conversations

Laurens picked up his brother's car from his home in the middle of Brooklyn before they embarked on their way upstate. Hamilton stood by the door, feeling awkward while his boyfriend made casual conversation, never mentioning him. He introduced himself before he left, not extensively, just a handshake and an exchange of names. This made Laurens blush and apologise, but Hamilton didn't care, nor did he blame him. Laurens' relationship with his brother didn't seem to be the strongest, and he let it slide as being something that didn't seem immediately important to Laurens in that moment. 

The journey up to Laurens' parents' house seemed to go on forever, not that Hamilton cared a great deal. He was by Laurens' side, holding his hand and fiddling with his fingers even when he changed gears. The traffic out of Brooklyn was dense and slow-moving, but once they got onto the highway, the brightly coloured fall trees made it all worthwhile. The scenery was truly beautiful and Hamilton couldn't help but feel completely content. With his free hand, he typed out some of the law coursework he'd fallen behind on, into Word on his phone. This flimsy method bothered him, but he knew that his words were always of quality and besides, he could edit any mistakes later before submitting. In between writing essays and investigating the patterns their fingers made when intertwined, Hamilton also wrote a number of verses inspired by both the beauty of the surrounding landscape and the man sitting next to him. Maybe he would send them to Jefferson..but he'd rather not. 

"I'm thinking of quitting after Jefferson publishes. And after I finish narrating your work. Just leaving Jefferson, finding someone else who's willing to publish."  
Laurens nodded, but much of his focus was on the road ahead.   
"Why do you put up with him? He seems to despise you for no apparent reason..."  
"Hamilton, I'm just happy to have a job," Laurens sighed. "It's hard business, you know? Even if you've had some recognition. Times are tough, man." He shrugged. "And I really don't want my parents to think of me as a total failure if I quit and go broke..."  
"You're too fearful, Laurens."  
"Maybe you're just too brave, Alexander," he replied, but his words were soft and quiet. Hamilton rubbed his thumb over Laurens' knuckles.   
"Maybe you're right." He brought Laurens' hand up to his lips and placed a few gentle kisses on his soft skin, to articulate the gentle sorry he felt was necessary. Why was he so quick to speak? Even if what he said were variants of the truth.

They were almost there when Hamilton started to speak again. His brain never seemed to shut up and he used that as an internal excuse to himself for constantly talking when there was comfortable silence. "Hey. Babe. Tell me about your parents."  
"...Okay, Well..." Laurens squeezed Hamilton's hand, and smiled to himself. "They're the best. They care so much. When I was starting out, they didn't agree with me choosing photography as a profession but they were supportive in other ways and that gave me so much confidence.. I don't want to let them down, they believe in me now.. You know, they're going to love you and...I hope I can tell them about us sometime... I want to share that part of me..." Hamilton nodded in understanding and allowed them the silence to seep back in. This time he let it be. 

*

Hamilton hadn't even noticed that they'd turned off the main road, he was so absorbed in his work. It was only when he noticed that Laurens' hand had tensed ever so slightly, beneath his, and then the sound of gravel under the tires, then he looked up. They were driving along a tight lane, towering trees on either side, Hamilton could already see the house at the end. Anxiety swelled up into a knot in his stomach and his breathing came out slightly shakier.   
"You okay?" Laurens asked, but his voice seemed, itself, small.   
"Just...nervous."   
"Hey.." Laurens waited until he pulled up at the end of the drive, to reach over and take both of Hamilton's hands. "Don't be. It'll be fine." Hamilton had to consciously not lean over to kiss him, knowing that they were right outside one of the windows to his parent's house. But Laurens' eyes looked so blue, his hair was falling in his eyes and over his reassuring smile, he had to actually bite the skin of his bottom lip to restrain himself.   
"You look so fucking handsome, exquisite even," he let himself murmur.   
Laurens winked. "Try to contain yourself, ya?"  
"This should be fun."

*

It wasn't. At all. He couldn't take his eyes off Laurens as he talked. First impressions probably went down okay, he thought. They'd laughed when he cracked some stupid joke he'd internally cringed over. They treated him with respect but didn't engage him in much of the conversation. It was only when Laurens left to go to the bathroom that he finally found himself thrown in the deep end with them.   
"So, Alexander..." Laurens' father looked strikingly similar to his son, but without those blue eyes that that he loved so much. He donned the freckles, and his shortly cropped hair gave a hint of the mad curls Laurens had inherited. It was his mom's warm eyes that mirrored his remarkably blue ones, and Hamilton was instantly drawn to her humanity and warmth. "Tell me," his father, Henry, continued, "What do you do? Are you studying? Laurens hasn't really spoken of you before, its my guess that Jefferson is keeping you on your toes?"  
Hamilton didn't want to sound boastful, but he did want to be honest. Fuck it. "Yes, he does. I'm actually studying Law, I'm in my first year of a Bachelors Degree. Coupled with a Masters in English Literature and Jefferson's asks, I am very much kept on my toes," he tried a chuckle at the end, then regretted how stuck up it came off as. 

"Wow!" His mom, introduced to him as Eleanor, was the first to reply. "That's a lot, Alexander! Your parents must be so proud!"  
Smiling politely, his response came out as calm and collected as he had hoped it to, "I'd like to think they would be...I'm an orphan. They pasted when I was quite young."  
"Oh honey, I'm so sorry!"  
"It's okay...it's been a long time." He still felt a tug on his heart as he mentioned them, especially seeing how close Laurens was to his family. He felt that ever-looming since of a missing piece of his life, it was just left gaping open.   
"You should try to instil some of your worth ethic into our Laurens! We've been telling him he should get a proper degree for years." Laurens' Dad finally spoke up.  
"He works well," Hamilton replied stiffly, just jaw starting to tense. "He's really talented, your Laurens. I feel quite honoured to work with someone who's travelled so much and worked for such big names..." Trying not to be passive aggressive, Hamilton cleared his throat.   
"Past tense," Henry growled beneath his breath.   
Inside his head, Hamilton scoured topics he could change the subject to, but thankfully, Laurens returned to save him.  
"What are you guys talking about?" He awkwardly asked, shooting Hamilton an apologetic look.  
"You!" His father chirped.  
"And how great Hamilton is doing, academically!" Eleanor added.   
Great. Great. They would probably hang off his college credits for the rest of the evening.

*They did.*

Laurens showed Hamilton around the estate, just as the sun was about to set, and he couldn't help but be completely taken back by the captivating beauty of his surroundings.  
"I really never knew New York to be this breathtaking." He admitted.   
Laurens smiled over at him. They walked along the pebbled shore of the lake, out of sight of the house and any prying eyes. His hand fell to his side, and grabbed Hamilton's. "It is. I prefer the city though. The slow life up here is all good and fine but.... I'd rather be where all the fun is."  
Hamilton nodded in agreement. Then paused, his step faltering as he reminisced on the day gone by. "Do you think they know? That we're dating?"  
"No." Laurens' reply was firm. "You play straight well when you want to."  
"Fuck you," Hamilton laughed, and stopped in his tracks. He grabbed Laurens waist and drew them closer. "That was almost impossible, you know. You must stop being so attractive during the most inconvenient of times."   
"Noted." Hamilton received an exasperated, over-dramatic eye-roll, and couldn't keep himself from kissing John Laurens. He had missed those lips. 

There was so much beauty in that evening, strolling around the beautiful woodland, Laurens' hand in his. They stopped periodically to sit and talk and just enjoy the other's company. For once, Hamilton didn't care that he hadn't written all of the words his brain contained. He'd found a whole other form of euphoria in watching Laurens talk so casually and with such grace, and in being with him, alone, not surrounded by even the millions of bodies the city contained. They were completely alone out there. Love was such a blissful thing, and he was only starting to experience it now. He couldn't believe his luck. 

Finally.


	17. Uncomfortable Silences

Waking up beside Laurens was something Hamilton would probably never get totally used to. Turning over and seeing his sleeping face, so beautiful and so his in that moment, he could envision a better way to start the day. When he woke up that cold Monday morning, he inched closer to Laurens, nuzzling his face into his neck, not caring when the soft curls tickled his cheeks. When he kissed Laurens' chin he smiled, too happy to even think about waking him or moving. He'd been getting so much more sleep since being with Laurens, and even though that meant less time to write, he didn't care. For once, writing and working was settling into a steady second place. It seemed, to Hamilton, that this was the correct way to live, this is what he'd been waiting for, what all he'd done and been and written had led to. 

"I love you," he whispered gently to the sleeping Laurens. He tried not to wake him, but Laurens was evidently a light sleeper, and the words stirred him awake.  
"Hmm..morning babe..what was that?"  
Hamilton's heart soared. How better to spend a sleepy morning than with this person who had such a tight hold on his heart? "I love you," he repeated, the smile never leaving his lips. Laurens returned the smile and lazily threw an arm around Hamilton's shoulders, drawing him even closer.   
"I love you too, you fucking idiot."  
"Uncalled for," he laughed. Then paused, remembering the previous day. Though he was generally a confident person, every single thing concerning Laurens threw Hamilton's thoughts into spiralling disarray. "Do you think your parents like me? I came off okay, right?"  
"Of course you did, they loved you-" 

Before Laurens could divulge completely, Hamilton's phone rang.   
"It's Jefferson," he groaned, annoyed at the interruption and the call of actual responsibility. Laurens sighed and ran a hand through Hamilton's hair, twirling it around his fingers. Reluctantly, he answered.   
"Jefferson, Sir."  
"Hamilton! I'll have a copy sent to you by lunchtime today. We still need to discuss the cover, title.. and if you want me to get another of our authors to introduce it..."  
"Wait where are you sending it to? I'm not at the studio yet.."  
"I'm just getting the intern to call over with it I can get her to get it to your place?"  
"Oh...ah well."  
"You're at Laurens'?"  
"....uh" A blush had taken over Hamilton's face, and was burning at his ears. "Yes?"  
"...Ok she'll be over in an hour or so. It's late, Hamilton I hope you're working. Don't let whatever this is get in the way of your career. I doubt I have to remind you, you're already on a short leash. The two week deadline still stands and I'll judge where you go from there on the quality of the work you give me. Remember I can still make or break you, no one knows who you are. Yet.." 

The silence between them was uncomfortable but Hamilton didn't really know how to respond. The tone of Jefferson's voice didn't have any of the friendliness it always seemed to ring of, even when he was being a prick. This was different, as if the mood of their relationship had abruptly changed. And he couldn't pinpoint why. Laurens had sat up, moving the sheets from Hamilton's lap so that he could pull himself up onto it, wrapping his legs around his waist and arms around his neck. "What's wrong?" He whispered into the skin of his shoulder.   
"Hamilton?" Jefferson's voice startled him from more spiralling thoughts, snapped his mind back to the present, suddenly.   
"Yes, sorry Sir. Point taken."  
"Good. Call me when you get the copy." 

Once he put down the phone, he turned to Laurens. Their faces where so close, Hamilton hadn't realised the immediacy of their proximity. When he realised Laurens was giving him a confused and questioning look, he explained, "It's Jefferson. He's... off. I don't know what exactly he's thinking and it's ...unnerving. I think he's planning something."  
Laurens frowned. "Like what?"  
"No idea. But whatever it is, I don't think it's going to be good."

*

They had actually made it out of bed, and were attempting to get some work done, when the buzzer rang, and Laurens let Jefferson's intern come up. That morning hadn't consisted of much other than Hamilton trying to write, then getting completely distracted by how good Laurens looked. His thoughts were totally unhinged from the fine-pointed and well-directed state they used to be in. Love was shaping his mind and moulding his entire world to fit with it's needs. And though he didn't care, he also didn't want Jefferson to ruin his career. That's what he'd implied, right? Hamilton was still so caught up on the threatening force Jefferson seemed to be becoming. 

"Hey! That's great, thanks!" Laurens returned from the door holding the book in a paper bag, and offered it to Hamilton. "God, that's it? What is it like 700 pages???"  
"Ahh. Maybe I've been sending Jefferson whatever else coincided with the original text so...ya probably around that."  
"Wait, you gave him complete control over this?"  
"I've talked to the editors, don't worry. Jefferson can be an ass but I'm not afraid of him." Though, as of right now, Hamilton wasn't sure if that was the truth.


	18. Celebrations With New Friends

They sat in Laurens' living room to flip through the pages together. Hamilton leaned against the arm of the sofa, his legs close to his chest, feet tucked under Laurens' legs, as he watched him read. They were both wrapped up in a bundle of blankets, and he clutched a mug of coffee close to his face, trying to nurse as much warmth out of it as possible. It was cold, the first warning signs of a rough December ahead starting to show. Hamilton had finished his coffee and was about to stand to get another one, when Laurens finally looked up.   
"This is fucking beautiful," he spoke quietly, as if he was trying to hold back waves of emotion from warping his tone. There was so much awe and love in that voice, Hamilton had never felt an approval quite like it. His presumption was that with love came this intense need to impress and his work meant more seen through Laurens' eyes, than through anyone else's.

He watched patiently until Laurens flipped the back cover shut and looked up at him. He had pointed Laurens towards the pages which he wanted him to read the most. Later, he would read it through, cover to cover, before giving Jefferson the go-ahead to publish.   
"Hamilton. This is so good. Really fucking good. It reads so well....I think it's going to sell. You're gonna be rich."  
"And it's all because of you," Hamilton replied, massive smile plastered across his face. Laurens grinned back and placed the book down beside him, then grabbed Hamilton's shirt gently. He pulled him closer, until their lips met. Hamilton let himself melt into the kiss, his hands wrapped themselves around Laurens' neck, a thumb tracing his jawline slowly. He was hyper aware of everything happening; of how great Laurens' lips felt, how soft they were against his, of how great his tongue felt when it flicked against the roof of his mouth. Laurens' hair tickled his face, a detail which he had come to love so much. 

"Your words fuck me up," Laurens whispered, blushing quite a bit. "You fuck my heart all the way up, you ass."  
Hamilton just laughed softly, unable to respond adequately. He felt the same. Laurens was the only thing that could starve him of words and thoughts, while at other moments, supplying him with the most he'd ever obtained.   
"We should celebrate this." He patted the blank cover of the book. It hadn't even a name yet. Jefferson probably had low expectations for sales, despite what he'd said.   
"Celebrate a draft copy?" Hamilton was dubious.  
"Of course! It's so great! Let's have a pre-publishing partaaay!"   
"Laurens, we literally have a week and a half to finish narrating your book, maybe we should celebrate after both??"  
"Nah that'd be defeating the point."  
"I don't see how-"  
"Oh my god come on. I'm gona call Laf and Mulligan, we'll just go for a few drinks and I'll show them what you've done."  
"Fuck my life," he groaned, but he couldn't shake that radiating smile.

*

"Mon Ami, Mulligan, Herc, look at this look at this!"  
Mulligan grabbed the book from Lafayette's hands, his eyes scanning the page to find what his friend had been pointing at. "My mans is in LOVE," his voice boomed through the small bar, and Laurens was quick to hush him.  
"Shut up, oh my god, guys. My parents' friends drink here..."   
They'd gone to a new bar, suggested by Laurens, due to the last incident that'd occurred at the Fraunces Tavern, and the likelihood of them running into Burr there, again.   
"How can we shut UP, Laurens. Dear, there's so much to talk about! You've found someone and look what he's done. He's written you!!! And so beautifully, so elegantly!" Hamilton blushed and Laurens threw Laf some serious evils.  
"You better shut you mouth-"

Lafayette ignored Laurens completely, and leaned towards Hamilton, changing the subject as quickly as he had burst out in excitement. "Hamilton, Alexander? Tell me, listen. You know the rally? Protest? That you went to? Do you have some of your words you may want to write for me about it? I have a magazine, self-published, I edit and print, it covers all the protests and I get people who've been to them to write about them, would you? Just 2,000 words or so... it'll be the main piece? You write so delicately.."   
"Uh...sure?"  
Laurens sighed. "You don't know what you're getting yourself in for he asks me every few days to write something."  
"Ah, yes but. Laurens, you've been replaced! You've read this, yes?"  
"Yes," he groaned. "And yea I know, my boyfriend is a better writer than me, Laf please. You know it's not my trade."  
Lafayette winked at Laurens, then pulled the book back from Mulligan's grip. "Now let's SEE. Oh this, THIS. I shall read some aloud, no?"   
"Please don't," Laurens sounded so defeated that this request was entirely half-hearted.   
"Cold in my professions..." 

Their banter escalated into Lafayette and Mulligan singing drunken praise for Hamilton, whom they now saw as some sort of gay literary god.   
"Why do they love me so much? I just wrote about the man I love? It's so mundane ...I can't comprehend their infatuation with such average words.."  
Laurens' fingers laced through Hamilton's beneath the table and he leaned closer, their shoulders touching.   
"Why do they adore me I am just a guy living my life and loving who I love," Hamilton re-articulated himself, because he couldn't begin to express the full extent of his awe. Would this be the public response when it was published? What was happening? Was it the alcohol clouding his judgement and making him overly-grateful to have a new group of friends who were so supportive?  
"Hamilton," Laurens' voice drew his eyes back to his boyfriend, and he squeezed his hand beneath the table. "To some your love is a radical act."   
Not for the first time, though the feeling still felt raw and new, Hamilton was left speechless in Laurens' presence. And because of the truth of those words. 

*

Hamilton ended up drunkenly emailing Jefferson the go-ahead. The title for the book would be, as Mulligan had suggested, 'My Dear Laurens...,' through Hamilton's sober mind would come to resent that title. Hamilton also sent another drunk email to his professor, George Washington, asking him to write an introduction to the book. Attached was the entire 700+ page transcript. Yet another thing his sober self would come to regret. 

But that night Hamilton fell asleep, again beside John Laurens - he might as well have moved in at that point - with the warmth of the alcohol and the warmth of his boyfriend next to him, sparkling a fire inside of him. A fire that burned with such content, he dreamt of all the words he'd yet to write. He had enough time. He knew this, because Laurens slowed his days down. Laurens was his savour. Saving him from himself, in ways. These thoughts made him smile and he drifted off to sleep, the world was good to him. He was doing good in this world.


	19. Three Conversations in the Night

The next night was Hamilton's first time in a week staying at his own apartment, his first night without Laurens in such a long while that he'd forgotten how cold and quiet it was. He hated it. The only reason he'd decided to cross the city on his bike in the pouring rain, to spend the night in a cold and empty bed, was because he was sick of wearing Laurens' too-big clothes. He found himself staring at the ceiling, wondering if Laurens was thinking of him. He'd already gotten a bag full of clean clothes ready to bring with him to Laurens' so his stays could be longer. 

To try to keep his mind off the looming fact that he was so far from the man who held his heart, he wrote. Mainly the article for Lafayette, but also some much-needed college work which he was getting frighteningly close to deadlines for. While he was typing, his mind too tired to totally follow the moments of his fingers over the keys, his phone buzzed. Reluctantly, he reached over to read it and instantly regretted the decision. The message was from Burr. 

Burr : You know, my eye's still black..

For some reason, it had totally slipped Hamilton's mind that he'd punched his friend, even though his knuckles stung and where still slightly bruised. He inwardly groaned, before typing out his reply quickly. 

Hamilton : What do you want, Burr?   
Burr : I heard that you're writing for Lafayette's zine? 

Hamilton drew his attention completely away from his work, once he read that. How the hell could Burr know that? Lafayette wasn't really one to tell others the specifics of his friends' business. 

Hamilton : Okay what the fuck  
Hamilton : Are you stalking me or something?  
Burr : No???   
Burr : I mean not really

It was hard to tell whether or not he was joking, and Hamilton took a moment to reply. What the fuck was Burr up to??

Hamilton : ???  
Burr : Anyway  
Burr : I normally write responses to the articles in that zine  
Burr : I thought I'd let you know  
Hamilton : Of course you do  
Hamilton : Well. Thanks  
Hamilton : Jk piss off, Burr

Half-tempted to text Laff some stupid apology to get out of publishing the article, Hamilton reopened the document he'd been working on and skimmed what he'd already written. It was good, and from the heart. He sighed, feeling so weighted. But so what if Burr wanted to challenge or denounce him, he'd keep defending himself. Maybe he'd even tarnish Burr's reputation in the process. He did have the tendency to rush into things without throughly thinking it through, unlike Hamilton. Then again... he remembered Burr's black eye and grimaced to himself. If they were friends at all, what the hell were they doing? 

*

Not even an hour had passed since the conversation with Burr, when Hamilton's phone buzzed again, this time signifying an incoming call from Jefferson. Annoyance at the constant interruptions to his work was steadily growing inside of him, but he answered the call anyway. Better to get it over with than have Jefferson blowing up his phone for a few hours, trying to reach him.

"Jefferson, Sir? It's late."  
"Sorry, Hamilton, is it a bad time?"  
"No, just writing. What is it, Sir?"  
"Well...," Hamilton heard what sounded like a long sigh on the other end of the line, before Jefferson's voice returned, "Don't you think the title you sent me was very...forward? Not subtle at all? I've been revising the text and-"  
"Why are you revising the text?"  
"Some parts ...mightn't be appropriate for certain audiences. Don't worry, the version you have signed off on will be what is out for public consumption, just some ramifications were necessary for he select people I have in mind to whom the text might be impressionable. All in your best interests, of course." 

Something felt off. Behind the simplistic and vague language Jefferson used, Hamilton could hear something more. But he couldn't pinpoint what exactly that was, and there was no way he'd formulate the questions necessary to uncover what Jefferson was scheming up.   
"What are you doing?" The question was quiet, he knew it was a futile request.  
"I've just told you, Hamilton. Don't worry, it'll be on the shelves soon, I assure you. About the title..."  
"Leave it. It's fine as it is. That's how I want it."  
There was a brief pause on Jefferson's end of the line, then another sigh. "..Fine. Have a good night, Alexander."

But once the line went dead, Hamilton couldn't shake the growing dread prodding at his gut. There was no way he'd be able to have a good night, nor would he get any sleep. Jefferson was hiding and planning something terrible, Hamilton had no doubt about that now. And he was a sitting duck until whatever that was played out. 

*

His phone rang again, startling him and breaking a static silence, not long after the call with Jefferson had ended. Thinking that it was probably his boss again, Hamilton almost didn't pick it up. When he did finally look over towards the screen, and John Laurens' name caught his eye, he darted to answer.   
"Hey, Hamilton, I miss you." God it was so nice to hear that soft voice again. He let himself lie down, pushing aside the bundle of notebooks and papers that were scattered across his bed, and tried his best to relax himself. He was jittery with nerves and he couldn't seem to totally concentrate, even when talking to Laurens.   
"Laurens, it's so good to hear your voice I've been...you wouldn't even begin to believe what's happened since I left."  
He could almost hear Laurens grin when he replied, "try me."  
"Burr is going to write an article countering mine because somehow he knows that I writing for Laf? And Jefferson's up to something. Sinister. He's being.. evasive."  
"Do you..want to come back to mine to talk about it?"  
"Are you just using this as an excuse to get me back in your bed?" Hamilton chuckled.   
"Maybe."  
"Well it's working.." How had he become so weak willed that even a night away from his boyfriend was impossible? "Can you order in a pizza? I know it's what? 1AM, but I think the place across the street from you is still open? Oh and can you find the copy of my book? We need to make sure there's no changes already made to that, that just passed us by unknowingly...." Hamilton smiled, thinking of Laurens sitting up in bed thinking about him. He wondered what he'd thought about that'd made him make the phone call.  
"Of course, babe."   
"Wear something cute, leave your hair down??"  
"So demanding," Laurens laughed. "But sure."   
"I'll see you soon." 

Maybe his night wouldn't be a total vortex of anxiety, after all.


	20. Promise Not To Be Kept

For once, downtown was empty as he cycled through icy streets. The rain had given way to freezing conditions, and Hamilton had to take care when navigating the brightly lit avenues of Manhattan at night. The suitcase he'd somehow managed to strap onto the back of his bike didn't help with balancing and he wobbled about, contemplating the nights phone calls, hardly staying upright in the process. By the time he arrived at the door to Laurens' apartment building, he was sweaty and breathless, much to Laurens' amusement.

"Are you moving in? How the fuck did you carry all that across town?" His eyes were so happy, Hamilton couldn't keep himself from replying with a kiss, catching the back of his boyfriend's neck and standing on tip toes to reach.   
"Aren't you happy to see me?" He teased.  
"Obviously. Give me those-" Laurens took the bags he had been failing to successfully prop up between himself and his bicycle. "You need to give me all the deets on both Burr and Jefferson's beef with you. What's going on?"

Once they got up to Laurens' apartment, Hamilton let loose all that had happened in the few hours prior. "Jefferson's going to do me wrong. Every time we talk ...the subliminal things he says, how he sounds... it just really seems like he's out to get me. Or us..that might be it. He is homophobic, or seemed as such?"  
Laurens just hummed a single note, his features paling. He was standing with his back against the island countertop, both men in the kitchen. Hamilton had made himself a coffee and was drinking it slowly, trying to soak up all the caffeine he could. It probably wasn't helping his anxiety, but right then he didn't care. He wanted to be awake. To figure this out. "I should write my way out, write him bad before he has the chance to get me or us. I could-"  
"Hamilton."  
"-ruin him, it'll be great, I'll do the same to Burr-"

"Hamilton." Laurens' voice had gained strength and became a stabbing force, stopping him in his tracks, and stalling his train of thought. "For once in your life, calm down and think things the whole way through."   
Hamilton sighed. "I'm calm, I'm calm," he breathed, very evidently lying.  
"Why don't you ring him up and ask what he's planning?"  
"Are you actually trying to induce a panic attack, Laurens?" He let his head fall, chin tucking into his chest, hair falling over his face, defeated. How was he supposed to win or even fight, if he didn't know what he was facing? What was Jefferson laying out, planning, that was so monumental and destroying that even without knowing, it made him feel this way?

Laurens crossed the room slowly, tutting at Hamilton's caffeine obsession. "If anything's going to induce a panic attack, it's going to be the amount of coffee you've been drinking lately." Hamilton couldn't even force a laugh in reply. "C'mere." Laurens held him until the tension in his shoulders relaxed, planting occasional kisses in his hair and rubbing the sides of his arms, trying to comfort him.

"I just want to know," Hamilton whined, so quietly, his voice quavering slightly.   
"I know, I know, babe."   
"It's days from hitting shelves, he could ruin me. Or us..." When Laurens didn't reply, fear started to swarm around the edges of Hamilton's consciousness. "You won't leave me, right? Whatever it is? If he's fucked it up? If everyone thinks I'm an abomination?"  
"Of course, not. But... listen to yourself, Hamilton. You sound like you've lost a fight you haven't even had yet. You were talking about ruining him a second ago. Where did all your fight go??"  
"I don't know, you're right Laurens, I rush things, maybe this is a reality check. It feels more like a hurricane, though. I'm a little overwhelmed."   
"I know you are." Laurens pulled him tighter again. "It's late, you're probably sleep deprived too. I'll text Lafayette and Mulligan, ask them to come over in the morning to discuss your article and hang out? We can get some work done before...do you have classes tomorrow?"

Fuck. He'd forgotten all about his academic responsibilities. "Yes.." He thought of Burr being there, glaring at him with that slowly un-swelling black eye, and of Lee, up there ranting of things Hamilton himself knew so much more about. Maybe he'd get lucky and have Washington as a cover for him. There was nothing Hamilton wanted less right then, than to be in the same room as Burr and Lee. "I've been missing classes, so I have to go but..." he trailed off and just groaned, a suffice end to the sentence.

"If Burr's there, you could confront him and ask him not to write?"  
"I could..." But the fight had left him, there wasn't a trace of it left, no matter how hard he tried to search through his thoughts and emotions to find something salvageable. He had never been one to roll over and take things, but he had never had anything to lose before. Now he did. He had a good job, an education, the start of a reputation and maybe what he cared most about, Laurens. He felt a mess even thinking about losing him, and the thoughts of someone or something threatening what they had was enough to make him feel physically nauseous. 

Laurens slept quickly, even though he assured Hamilton he'd wait up for him to fall asleep first. There was no blaming him though, Hamilton knew that he wouldn't be able to get any sleep, not when Jefferson's words and that tone of his voice was racing through his brain, scrambling up the sane thoughts and fortifying the half-mad ones. He found one of his many notebooks in the drawer beside the bed - he'd left numerous lying about Laurens' apartment, knowing that they'd all come in handy sometime. But instead of writing his way out of the hurricane he felt growing over his head, he just stared at the blank pages, unable to even lift his pen and press it to paper. For once he was out of words, and there was no great feeling in his chest that he felt when it was Laurens stealing them from his mind. This just felt empty, hopeless. He felt as though he had lost the very thing that defined him. And now he was left in this hurricane of bullshit, with no defences. He'd lost who he was in it all, and he'd lost his fight. He still hadn't moved from that spot, pen suspended in the air over the blank page, when the first light of dawn pooled though the windows. It wasn't a warm light. It terrified him. Everything was starting to.


	21. Parties Planned while ‘Friends’ Conspire

Hamilton spent the next few days sinking further into a state of internal unbridled panic. Jefferson said no more, he hadn't called him in days. Laurens was oblivious to what was going on in his mind, but Hamilton was pretty good at keeping it well under wraps. They stayed in Laurens' apartment, occasionally going out to Bridge to get coffee and change about what they were working on, or to get food. But Hamilton felt like he was a ghost of himself, resigned into what he knew Laurens mistook as being a state of concentration. In reality, he wasn't applying himself half as much as he regularly did, and he feared that the looming deadline for his collaboration with Laurens was approaching too quickly. 

Lafayette published Hamilton's article in the midst of all this panic, and it took only a day for Burr's reply to come. Laf sent him a copy of the paper, with a note attached that read "You need to respond to this, destroy him, Hamilton." He didn't even have the energy to read the article, let alone formulate a response. Where has he'd fight gone, now in the time when he needed it the most and when his situation, the fact that he had friends who believed in him, a boyfriend that loved him, he was supported enough to be able to overcome all of this. In theory. Something inside Hamilton had shattered the moment he fully understood the power Jefferson held over his life. Writing on Laurens' kitchen worktop, he found his hands trembling off their own accord. His normally perfect notations became messy scribbles scarring his notebook pages, ugly reminders of he state his mind had fallen into, how jumbled up his thoughts had become. 

Laurens read Burr's response before Hamilton, something that struck him as odd. When Laurens approached him on the subject, he knew that he was starting to realise that all wasn't as well as he'd been trying to allude him into thinking.  
"Hamilton. Alex, listen. Is it Jefferson? How have you let him get under your skin so much? What's the worst that he could do, you have so many credentials, you're first real book is being published tomorrow, you have that top-notch brain. If he fires you so what?"  
"He could ruin my reputation. Or us. Laurens I've so much to lose. I have everything......"  
"I know, you've said," Laurens sighed, slightly exasperated. "I can't help you if you don't let me inside your head, you know.."  
"He could call me any moment. Ruin my life with a number of words." Hamilton lay down the pen he'd been holding. He hadn't noticed until that moment that he'd been grasping it so tight his knuckles had paled, and it was on the verge of snapping in two. His gaze didn't move from the pen for what seemed an eternity. There wasn't enough heart in him to hold Laurens' gaze and tell him the present inner workings of his mind. Not when he couldn't even fully decipher them himself.   
"I'm calling the guys, we need to pull you out of this rut. What about a celebratory book launch partway?"  
Hamilton could think of nothing he cared less about right then, than celebrating a book that was probably effectively going to ruin him, if that was what Jefferson's line of attack happened to entail.   
But for Laurens' sake, he tiredly agreed. 

*

It had been nice, he admitted to himself, watching Laurens work himself up into a nervous panic over the specifics of the party he was organising. The short notice (just a few hours) and the task of talking with Jefferson to get advance final copies of the book to be sold and displayed at the party, was enough to overwhelm Hamilton, just in thought. In practise, Laurens was a great event organiser, less critical and precise than Hamilton thought himself to be, but where he lacked meticulous detail, he made up for in efficiency. The difference between them, the major one that Hamilton was noticing, was that Laurens was able to survey the task at hand and prioritise. Hamilton could never do that. He had to make sure everything was absolutely perfect, everything that he would eventually attribute his name to, that was.

So he was glad that he could sit back and watch Laurens shoulder all the work for once. Listening in to the phone call between his boyfriend and Jefferson, as they discussed the amount of copies that would be needed at the launch, stressed Hamilton out into almost a serious panic, until Laurens got off the call and could reassure him that all was good. Jefferson was still behaving himself. Right now. Hamilton was sure that that was the end of his stress for the evening, and was actually starting to warm to the idea of a launch party, when he got a text from Burr. Typical. Of course this would come just as his mind had started to quiet the fuck down.

Burr: U haven't read what I wrote yet?

Hamilton: I have better things to be doing with my time, Burr, than to be reading the writings of such a person. 

Burr: And I thought we were friends  
Burr: That's okay, Alexander  
Burr: I knew already that you were only ever willing to face me while intoxicated

Hamilton: what  
Hamilton: the fuck  
Hamilton: We are friends, Burr I don't see what I said that convinced you otherwise, it's true that I have no time to read writings of such a man, that is merely factual

Burr: Whatever, Alex  
Burr: I'll see you at the party tonight?  
Burr: Can't wait to read your first book!   
Burr: Jefferson has told me so much about it

Hamilton: wtf are you talking about?  
Hamilton: Burr, what the fuck??  
Hamilton: Leaving me on read just makes you petty  
Hamilton: fuck 

Fuck.   
"Fuck."  
Laurens, who had just answered the door to the delivery of books from Jefferson, glanced over. "Babe. You okay?"  
"Fuuuuuuck."  
Laurens stopped unpacking the books and pulled himself off the floor where he'd been sitting, cross-legged, by the large box they'd arrived in. He was at Hamilton's side in a second. Without saying a thing, Hamilton showed Laurens his phone screen.  
"I haven't even told Laff or Mulligan - or anyone - about the party. The only person I told was Jefferson. And even that was just an hour ago..."  
"Laurens..."  
"That doesn't make any sense, how could he know?"  
"Laurens."  
There was a prolonged pause and a quizzical stare from John Laurens before Hamilton finally saw the pieces of the puzzle slip into place inside his head. Again, his face paled as realisation dawned on him.

"Oh. Fuck."


	22. Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just thought I'd give a little note about how I'm writing Hamilton's character at the start of this chapter - Though he does go through a lot, he is always resilient and always has the best, or what he thinks is the best, resolve. So, yes, he has some shit-spells. He is dealing with a lot mentally, and a past I haven't delved into nearly enough to give a good enough context but I'll leave that to you guys ;) I know it's odd how he bounces in and out of being 100%. But that's just how I picture him to be. So it's intentional, I guess, is what I'm trying to get at.. anyway enjoy! The plot thickens...

"How could we not have seen this coming?" Laurens fumed.  
"How could we have seen this coming?"  
"You really haven't read that article, have you? Burr literally states in it that you need to watch your back, Hamilton. He writes something about a hurricane? He said that you think it's already here but you don't know the half of it?? We should have seen this, I should have seen this. God, babe I'm so sorry, this could've been stopped....I could've stopped it.."  
Hamilton ran a hand over his face, in an attempt to ground himself. All it did, however, was make him realise how badly he'd let himself go in the last few days. His facial hair was course and much longer than he'd remembered, against the skin of his palm, and he could feel the dips and bumps of the baggage those sleepless nights had left under his eyes. He was a mess, completely. But he couldn't allow himself this pity for much longer. He had to act, it was either that or watch his life, and maybe the lives of those he loved, fall apart.   
"Well. I guess I'll have to write my way out of the motherfucking hurricane, then, Laurens."  
Laurens didn't reply, there was something in the pits of his eyes that made Hamilton's heart sink. It was only a moment before he realised it as being guilt. "It's not you're fault, Laurens. C'mon.." he inched over, closing the space between their bodies quickly and pulling Laurens into the first genuine embrace they'd shared in what felt like an age. "Lets get this party set up."   
When Laurens' eyes met Hamilton's again, they were smiling. "I missed you."  
"Good. Because I'm back."

*

The guests began to filter in one by one and in small groups, the buzzer took an entire hour to quieten down, and during that time Laurens resolved to standing by the door, the frequency was such. Hamilton felt himself renewed, as if somehow he'd been given a new lease of life. He welcomed the people who wanted to celebrate him, as he always did - with far too many words - all of which were appropriate, however. It was Lafayette who was the first to confront him, with haste, about matters outside of the party and the book launch. The Frenchman burst through the door, and rushed to Hamilton, without even acknowledging Laurens. 

"Mom ami! Alexander. Hamilton. Thank you for your article it went down a great storm, in a good way, that's a phase you use, yes? I don't know why a storm would be good but..."  
"Laf..." Hamilton chuckled. "It's good to see you."  
"You've read what Burr wrote, no? Tell me what you think??? I though you would have...how you say...fucked him over? Already. I thought your written response would come a lot quicker."  
"I just read it."  
"What? Now?"  
"Yes about a half hour ago."  
"Alexander! Why the delay?"  
"Let's not get into that right now, but Laf?"  
"Yes, Hamilton? Yes?????"  
"Burr is coming to the party. And it was Jefferson who told him about it. Something is about to go down. But you need to keep this between us, okay? The less people who know about it the-"  
"WHAT??? Sir BURR is coming HERE to this PARTY and JEFFERSON????? Is involved? HAMILTON. What have you gotten yourself into? Alexander? My friend...this is...a ..pickle?? Why do you have the oddest of sayings..." Lafayette trailed off, as Hamilton looked around. The population of the entire room had their eyes trained on them. Lafayette's loud outburst should have been expected, but Hamilton still winced.   
"Great. Now everyone knows. Thank you, Laff. Thank you."   
"Sorry, sorry, mon ami, sorry. You have to understand, this is very. Disturbing?"  
"I know the situation is dire as fuck but, listen. Whatever Jefferson has planned, I'll trump it. You'll help?"  
"Of course, I have your back, Alexander."  
"Thanks, Laff. Will you let Mulligan know, too, when he shows?"  
"Of course, of course. Go, your boyfriend looks as if he's seen a ghost, he needs you."

Hamilton, absorbed in keeping Lafayette from yelling out everything he told him, hadn't paid Laurens, who was still standing by the door, much attention in the past moments. When he looked over at him now, he realised that Laurens had been trying to catch his attention with some intense, desperate, staring. "Thanks for coming, Laff," Hamilton mumbled out of polite habit, in his friend's direction, already moving towards Laurens and the door. Laurens instantly grabbed him by each arm, and pulled him to the door, further away from overly-interested ears.   
"They're here." Laurens' voice quivered slightly. Hamilton knew he was scared, but neither of them knew of what. Perhaps that made what lay ahead, the unphantomable what-ifs, ever more daunting to face. Hamilton gave his love a soft smile and let a soothing hand stroke his hair. He cupped Laurens' cheek in one hand, and held his waist with the other. "Don't worry, Darling. I can handle this, now. It'll be civil, a little awkward, a little passive-aggressive. That is all." Hamilton's own lips were trembling, he realised when he pressed his lips to Laurens' forehead, in an attempt to reassure him.

He reached over Laurens' shoulder and pressed the button to speak to Burr and Jefferson, still standing on the street outside. There was silence for a second, while he gathered his thoughts. "I'm letting you through now. It's just you two, right?"  
"It is." Jefferson said, his voice soaked in anger and cutting, a reflection of the cold weather Laurens had left them both standing in.   
"You know it's started to snow out here, can you let us up already?" Burr added, his voice sounding challenging, as if he was under the presumption Hamilton would turn them away. If it had been 24 hours before, he wouldn't have even been able to speak to them, he recalled. How grateful he was that the tide had turned inside him. He felt completely confident and comfortable going head to head with the two people causing him most threat. 

He returned to Lafayette, who had been talking with Mulligan, but barely engaged himself in conversation. Laurens followed him, not wanting to be by the door when Jefferson and Burr arrived, but Hamilton hardly noticed. His mind had stepped back into gear and was currently racing with possibility. Obviously Burr and Jefferson were conspiring against him. Together. He wondered how the hell they'd found each other, Burr's public response to Hamilton's article, maybe? But Burr wasn't by any means homophobic or, Hamilton had thought, a threat to him. Why would he want to become one. He thought of that night in the bar, losing his temper, giving Burr that black eye. Had things really ever been the same between them after that?? He found it hard to tell exactly. Would a single punch have thrown Burr over the edge and into a raging hatred for him? If it had, there had been no glaringly plain signs that Hamilton had caught. 

The door of the apartment opened and instantly Jefferson was caught up in conversation with a few of his editors, some of which Hamilton had befriended of late and trusted wholeheartedly. Whatever Jefferson was doing to his work, it wouldn't be done under their watch. The pieces started to slide together in Hamilton's head. The only logical explanation for why Jefferson needed Burr. He was a skilled journalist, much like Hamilton. His mind, thought processes aligned with Hamilton's on some, but not most, topics. But most importantly, Burr knew him, knew how he thought, knew how he wrote, knew what he would and wouldn't say, better than anyone. If Jefferson wanted someone to successfully and reputably doctor text Hamilton had written, Burr would be the best choice. So it was his skill, his inside knowledge and their friendship that had drawn Jefferson towards Burr. That still didn't explain why Burr had decided to accept such an offer, supposedly being Hamilton's friend, but he didn't let himself get into that, and besides he could see that Jefferson had rid himself of company and was walking towards them, his thoughts snapping instantly back to the party.

His spine straightened, shoulders tensed, as he braced for the conversation ahead. At least he could confront Jefferson first, he was playing this game, moving his pawns around, but he enjoyed it too much, he'd let some of his plan slip, Hamilton knew it. If not sober, then after a number of beers. There was one thing Hamilton knew for sure, as Jefferson introduced himself to Lafayette and nodded a disregarding greeting to Laurens : This night was going to change his life.


	23. Complexities of the Vague

Laurens put an arm around Hamilton's waist. He made a fist, clutching onto the fabric of his jumper, and Hamilton could feel his anxiety radiating. There were a few awkward seconds before Jefferson even acknowledged him, and in those seconds Hamilton realised that Jefferson was also seemingly nervous. Well, that was to be expected. He was outnumbered.   
"Hamilton. I'm sorry I didn't think of arranging such an event..."  
"I didn't expect it, Sir." Inwardly, he cursed himself for even absentmindedly showing Jefferson respect.   
"Well!" Lafayette clapped his hands together, breaking another silence that had befallen their small group. "I'm going to get a drink! Anyone? Hamilton? John Laurens? Want a drink? Jefferson? No? Okay!" He left without pausing or caring to properly punctuate his speech with pauses.  
Jefferson merely raised an eyebrow at Lafayette's quick departure, then returned his attention back towards Hamilton and Laurens.

"Burr's a good writer, great, in fact." So he wasn't going to dance around the topic, the looming truths.  
"What's going on, Jefferson?" Hamilton's tone was flat, but he had to clench his fists to keep his fingers from shaking. There was still too much nervousness inside him.  
"What do you mean, Hamilton? I just needed to edit the text for different audiences?" Jefferson was still trying to fool him with that vague bullshit, as if Hamilton couldn't see that there was nothing innocent about what he was doing.  
"What audiences?" He growled back.  
"Those who your work needs altercations-"  
"Cut the crap, Jefferson," Laurens spoke up, his words short but cutting, making it evident where they were all standing.  
In response, Jefferson just shrugged. "It's done now, anyway. And you'll either find out, or you won't, soon enough." The way he played with his words, with Hamilton and Laurens' mind, was starting to make Hamilton's blood boil, even more so. He talked as if there was nothing wrong, subliminally talking to intensify their anxiety and force their thoughts to wander. "Let's not dwell on this, and enough the night. You're going to make us rich, Alexander!" Jefferson's smile was unnerving, but Hamilton brushed him off.   
"I'm sure there's many people seeking your thoughts on this occasion, or presence in general, Sir," he nodded to Burr, who seemed so very out of place surrounded by so many of Laurens' and Hamilton's friends and co-workers. He stood just to the left of the door, closer to the hall than any of the rest of the party. If he hadn't come to despise his former friend those past few days, Hamilton would've had some sympathy at the pathetic scene. Jefferson took the hint, and returned to the man he'd arrived with. 

As if on cue, Lafayette returned from the depths of the kitchen, with the vodka and coke he'd fixed himself. "Ah I missed the conversation...such a shame."  
Laurens grinned. "You didn't miss much, Laf. I'm starting to think that Jefferson's all talk."   
Hamilton didn't agree, he didn't say anything. Jefferson had been testing the waters, seeing what exactly they knew, how far he could push them. He tried to enjoy he rest of the party, and felt it easier when, shortly after their conversation ended, Jefferson and Burr made their quiet exist. The praise Laurens' friends gave his work, and him, fed his ego and raised his spirits back to what they had been before, what they should've always been. He wouldn't falter again, he couldn't. Keeping his wits was a priority. 

There was nothing extraordinary about the night besides the obvious, that was true. But it did change him completely, even if he didn't know it at the time. He wouldn't be the same knowing that times as good as this had past. The comfort he felt in Laurens' arms, how content he was after a night in celebration of his talents. That night would haunt him in the coming weeks, as he navigated the world searching to regain all that he has lost. 

*

Leaving Laurens the next morning was almost an impossible task. The thought of having to bike across the hustle of Manhattan during rush hour and in the freezing cold, was enough to tempt Hamilton not to leave Laurens' side. He shouldn't have. His boyfriend looked so sweet, hair even more of a mess than it normally was in the early morning, something attributable to the moderate amount of alcohol he'd consumed at the party the night before. Laurens was still wrapped up in his silence, peaceful sleep when Hamilton kissed a his freckled forehead once before turning his back on him, and heading towards the door. 

His apprehension about cycling the length of the city to get to his lecture - this one thankfully at the hands of George Washington - hadn't been without reason. The streets were at an all-out standstill. They'd been a heavy downpour of snow the night before, and some streets were rendered impassible as cars had plowed into each other, the number of accidents city-wide, skyrocketing. Instead of cycling he roads, he took to the footpaths, ignoring the glares and shouts of pedestrians as he sped past, expecting them to part for him. He didn't want to be late to Washington's class. He didn't want to give Burr a reason to talk to him afterwards. 

But when he showed up, taking his regular seat to the left of centre (Washington favoured this side, and he wanted to absorb every word and answer as much as he could), Burr was nowhere to be seen. Hamilton hadn't made it in as early as usual, and expected Burr to await with some form of taunt, but there was no one there. He pulled out his phone to text Laurens, and informed him of his relief that his classmate was absent. He waited for Laurens to reply, but no answer came, and Hamilton was glad, presuming that he was still sleeping. He smiled at the thought, imagining Laurens' soft quiet breaths, his body curled up beneath the sheets. Though he loved how Washington taught, he couldn't keep himself from wishing that the class would go faster, the urge to get back to Laurens' and return to bed with him, curling up and holding him to regain some warmth to his cold limbs, it made him restless. His grades hadn't slipped during the time in which his fight had, but he had been missing classes. All of this made his mind wander to a time he pictured, in the near future, when his studies would end, and his career and life would truly begin. Everything he imagined, he imagined with Laurens. He couldn't picture a complete future without him. 

The route back was travelled with just as much haste, this time merely due to anticipation of being reunited with Laurens. Every moment apart was coming to be unbearable for Hamilton. His phone buzzed with an incoming text, but he couldn't check it, not while he was weaving in and out of cars at the hands of idiotic and generally reckless New York City drivers. It was only when he pulled up outside the apartment block, rolling his bike up to the door, that he read Lafayette's text.

Lafayette: Have you seen Laurens?  
Lafayette: Hamilton  
Lafayette: Answer please, he's not at home or returning calls he always returns calls, even when sleeping  
Lafayette: I may be over exaggerating but ah, Alexander, this is not like him at all you understand?

What the fuck?   
Hamilton pondered by the messages as he searched for his keys. "Shit." He'd forgotten them in his rush to leave. The buzzer rang three, four times before Hamilton text Lafayette back.

Hamilton: I'm locked out and he's not answering the door  
Hamilton: Don't worry though, Laf, he's just sleeping he's hungover, we both know that's another type of sleep

Lafayette: ah, yes, yes mon ami that's probably it sorry for the worry

Hamilton securely tied his bike up to the lamppost across the path from the door, then headed towards the alley beside the apartment block. Laurens has shown him how to break in once before when they'd been drunk and the alcohol had numbed their brains to the reasonable. There was an unstable half-broken ladder tucked away behind one of the big metal skips, and if you pulled it out and propped it against the wall, it reached the end of the fire escape ladder. There was just enough room to crawl through and up onto that tight stairway, and Laurens' window down into the alley was directly to the right from that point, you could reach over and push it open. If you balanced and placed your feet right, sliding inside wasn't hard at all. The ladder reeked and was soaked with what Hamilton guessed was cat piss, but it smelled so feral it could've been that of a rat. Whatever it was, it made him hasten his pace, and he made it into the apartment in what he was sure was record time. Laurens, you idiot, you shouldn't have drank so much, Hamilton thought. The apartment was still silent and he made sure not to make a sound when he closed the window behind him. 

He wondered why Lafayette had come to the apartment, what had been the urgency. He'd have to wake Laurens, he figured, regrettably. Maybe they'd lie together for a moment before responsibility called for them. Hamilton crossed the kitchen and made for Laurens' room, when he stopped in his tracks as he approached the hall. He was sure he'd closed the door to the bedroom behind him before he left, the care he took to shut it without sound adding to the memorability and his recollection. He felt his heart sink instantly, but it wasn't until he saw the empty bed that he let himself presume the worst. Or presume anything. He might've just went to the store. Right??

Something inside Hamilton knew better than to hope for that, though. Laurens was gone.


	24. Absence and Some Realisation

Hamilton let himself stumble onto the bed. He curled up in the sheets where Laurens had lain. They were still warm, still smelling of him, and his shampoo. Laurens had too many hair products. He let himself smile as he remembered his awe the first time he'd witnessed Laurens' hair routine. Those sheets reminded him of Laurens embrace, of how safe and protected he felt when he was in his arms. Being along there felt abnormal, wrong. As though he had lost the very thing that had been keeping him from utter vulnerability and hurt. Bringing himself back to the present was the last thing he wanted to do in that moment, but he forced his mind back into focus. 

Laurens had left the room just as Hamilton had remembered it, the only things that seemed to be misplaced were John Laurens himself and his phone. He hadn't even taken his wallet, Hamilton realised. It still sat on his bedside table, looking so small and unimportant, but holding many truths. Laurens wasn't gone out to get something, he hadn't even brought his digital camera, Hamilton found it just under Laurens' side of the bed. No, his boyfriend had disappeared without a trace, he hadn't left behind a note or even a text saying 'I'll be home soon, don't worry'. So, as anyone would in that situation, Hamilton spiralled into a frenzy. He called Lafayette, who picked up, then Jefferson, who didn't, then Lafayette again, all the while pacing the length of the bedroom, staring at the empty bed every so often, forcing himself to disregard reality. 

Hamilton's hands shook as he found Lafayette's number to call him back, after there had been no answer on Jefferson's end.   
"Laf? Have you heard from him? Laurens? Jefferson didn't pick up. But...I just remembered. Burr wasn't at the lecture I had this morning. It's unlike him to be absent, even if he doesn't regard Washington with the same esteem as he does Lee..."  
Lafayette was silent on the other end of the line for an agonisingly long second. When he replied, his voice was tinged with something that resembled remorse. "Hamilton he's gone. I got through to him he's...on the way home. To Puerto Rico." 

Though he tried, it was impossible to control the anger and fear from totally consuming his tone, as Hamilton replied, "Lafayette why the fuck did he call you and not me. I've been trying his number all this time and he's never picked up but he does to you? Why is he gone? Why is Laurens gone? Why did he just get up and leave me here, Laf. What the hell did Jefferson and Burr do to him to make him leave me?" Hamilton couldn't stand it in that room anymore, he pulled the door open with some force, almost hitting himself with it as he existed into the hall. He didn't allow himself to direct the anger towards Laurens. How could he, when his boyfriend was probably going through something far worse than what he was, as he stood there still for the most part untouched by whatever it was that had happened. He closed the door on the empty room behind him and stood in the hall, suddenly completely at a loss for what he should do.   
"Laf what did he say. Can you remember exactly what it was?"

Lafayette sighed. His voice was soaked in such concern that Hamilton felt that anxiety more acutely all of a sudden, the anxiousness that was lingering, attaching itself - unmovable from the questions and possibilities floating in his head. "Hamilton, he didn't say much. That he was at the airport ah... I think JFK. He couldn't talk. And he said that he wouldn't be able to talk to you. Not for a while..." Lafayette's guard had dropped, Hamilton realised. He was no longer the warm, always joking, always warm and comforting figure he had come to know and love. "Hamilton he needs you but I don't know how you're going to be there for him. I don't know what's happening.. I don't want my friend to be going through this.. Laurens...he doesn't deserve any bad. His heart is too good."   
Everything was out of place. Laurens had left, he couldn't contact him, but he was okay and, from what they knew, he wasn't in harms way. 

That man who loved him so much that he'd brought Hamilton's life back down into the realms of reality. Laurens had taught him so much, just by being himself and loving him. Their love had taught Hamilton more about what the world had to offer than anything had before, in all of his 24 years of being. Laurens, with that smile, those eyes, the night sky full of freckles which donned his checks and spilled over his brow. The heart of a lion which lay inside his chest was probably twisted so out of shape, Hamilton thought. 

Lafayette waited all this time, patient as he was, while Alexander broke down on the other end of the phone, remembering someone that may not have been completely lost, but felt so far away in that moment that he might as well have been. It took only a moment for his legs to give out, and he fell to the ground, back against the wall, beside the threshold of the kitchen. The hall seemed to elongate when he looked up, the tears and undirected anger warped his perception of reality.

"Laf we have to get him back..." Once he gathered his thoughts and reasonings he began to think more feverishly than he had in weeks, months. "Maybe his parent will know."  
"Mon ami.....my poor Hamilton don't cry. We will get him back, of course. And maybe yes we should call them, but listen. He would not want this, no? Would he really want you to be crying like this-"  
"I'm fine."  
"Which is a lie. I am coming over. We need to discuss."   
Hamilton didn't argue - he needed Lafayette. They would find out what the fuck was happening.

*

For a brief moment when he heard the door buzz, Hamilton thought it might just be Laurens. In the same instance, he remembered Lafayette's proposition to come over and plan out the immediate course of action, and all hope of a swift reunion with Laurens fell aside. He was, really, on a plane to Puerto Rico. Hamilton had tried to call Laurens' parents but there'd been no answer and his reasoning seemed to be a little off.. there was no reason why they'd know anything about this, right? He didn't want to worry them... 

This is what he was thinking when Lafayette swung open the door, his arms stocked with an abundance of food. The bags were stacked so high atop a pizza box that he couldn't see directly in front of him and had to crane his neck to the side of the mountain of food. "So. Mulligan's coming over, too. I gave him the..run down.. and. I got us supplies! I wasn't sure if you were a taco or burrito person or a both person so I got us all everything! And pizza."  
"Lafayette, thank you. I've never gained comfort from food but for some reason this situation seems to call for all of this..." Hamilton allowed himself to give Laf a small smile as he closed the door behind him and alleviated him of some of the weight he was carrying. That was a lot of food. 

Something felt wrong about the moment. Then Hamilton realised : he was waiting for Laurens' excited outburst, waiting for him to walk through the doorway from the hall and run over to Laf, hugging him and graciously taking the pizza. "He should be here, this feels like a celebration." Hamilton had moved towards the island, in the middle of the room and left the bags down on the marble counter. There were still some remains from the night before, when their friends had celebrated the work Hamilton had written about Laurens. The man that was the burning light of his future, a future he couldn't imagine in that moment. Not anymore, with Laurens gone his very notion of a future had been stripped away.

"Have you called his parents yet?" Lafayette asked, mid-chew as he stuffed he made his way through another burrito. They had moved to the living room to wait for Mulligan and to really get into planning whatever it was they were going to plan. Everything seemed like a futile shot in the dark at the moment.   
"They didn't pick up. I'm trying to think more reasonably, here.. Laf do you think they know? They probably don't. There's a chance if I tell them I don't know where their son is they'll panic. They love him so much."  
"Hmm." Lafayette shook his head. "No, they think they love him."  
"They're just hard on him-"  
"Trust me. You should call them again. If getting Laurens to ....disassociate? completely from you was Jefferson's plan, I'm thinking he would've.. interfered with them first."  
"Are you sure you're not being presumptuous?"  
"Alexander, my friend, I've known them for years."  
Hamilton nodded, and picked up his phone. Laurens had put his parents' home number in after their visit, when Hamilton promised Laurens' father to keep in touch in regards to some legal direction he had asked for.  
This time, his mother picked up. "Hello?" Her voice sounded so much like Laurens' that he had to force himself to swallow the lump that instantaneously grew in his throat.   
"Ms. Laurens, it's Hamilton! I was just wondering if you've heard-"  
"Hamilton! Hello! Laurens is on a flight to Puerto Rico, his Grandmother is ill. But, he needs time away from all of this. I don't know if you know what your ...book has done? He needs away from that. Just for a while. I will call you if you need to know anything but please don't call this number again, his father is having a harder time comprehending things. And, Hamilton? Please, could you take care of the apartment? I have to go-"   
Before Hamilton could answer of even develop a suitable string of the questions burning his mind, the line went dead. He was shocked into silence for a minute, before he managed to croak out anything at all. He could hardly think, the details of everything that had been said were being carefully toyed with and investigated inside his head. His dissection of it all was meticulous. 

"Laf. What the fuck is going on?"


	25. Hearts of One Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was pretty determined to tell this entire story from Hamilton's POV but for this chapter I change to Laurens' halfway through to keep the story entertaining? And to accelerate the plot a little. I've also been itching to get inside the head of his character a little bit more so you know where he's coming from and his motives. Okay cool thanks for reading love y'all x (This also may seem to be all over the place but don't worry it's going to piece together some smaller things - the next chapter alllll will be revealed promise x)

"I have to go to Puerto Rico," Hamilton's statement seemed to be a grounded conclusion to their talks in his view, but both Lafayette and Mulligan met the reasoning with joint disapproval.   
"No, Alexander, I can't let you!" Laf tutted. "You've to work, you just published your book! Have you even looked at your emails yet? Has Jefferson called you? The world might be going crazy for Alexander Hamilton and we would never know, locker away up here in this apartment as we are."  
"Laf's right that you shouldn't go," Mulligan added, always looking at Lafayette when he spoke. It would take an idiot not to notice how infatuated they were with one another, yet neither of them seemed to act on it. Noticing their love made Hamilton's heart pang with a longing for his own. It had only been a few hours without Laurens but he missed him beyond belief, he felt a certain loneliness he'd never really felt before. The sort that mocked you. Laurens wasn't gone for good, but Hamilton had no idea when he was returning, adding salt to the wound of his absence. "You have to finish what you and Laurens started. Whatever Jefferson did, he did it to not only ruin you, but Laurens too. You need to make sure you finish the project you were working on with him. And...don't you have winter exams coming up soon?"  
Shit.

His work was dwarfed by the immediate importance and urgency to resolve Laurens' absence, however. There was no way Hamilton could let Laurens' photo book not go to the editors when it was due, though. He knew Laurens was trusting him to get that much done. These were testing and extreme circumstances, but the reason within Hamilton was resolute. "You're right. I have to get through to Jefferson. Sit down with him and talk this out."  
Laf shifted, crossing his legs and leaning further back into the sofa, taking up what Hamilton could only describe as his 'thinking position'. The food had long since disappeared, and he wondered for an instance how such a slight man could eat such a great mountain of food.   
"Well. Jefferson has it out for you. Talking face to face might be dangerous. If what he did was powerful enough to-" Lafayette's words were interrupted, as so many sentences seemed to be, by the buzzing of Hamilton's phone.  
"It's... Laurens' parents???"  
"Oh shit," Mulligan muttered, they'd caught him up.  
"Oh...fuck," Lafayette added to the chorus.   
"Do I answer? I won't speak well enough the words won't come to me what do I say I cannot think straight this is not good oh god ohgodoh." He took a deep breath and answered. "Ms. Laurens, hello again, our conversation seemed to have been cut short earlier."

The voice on the other end of the line was much more together than Hamilton knew she was. There were undertones to her voice he could recognise only because he'd had to deal with Burr's consistently passive-aggressive friendship for so long. "Alexander. Laurens told me to pass on a message before he left he said ...that he loves you, and will come back. I didn't want to tell you this earlier because his father was around and, well. He's taking his with quite the straight back. We're supportive, of course, but what you wrote, it was detestable and-" her voice was cut short by a door slammed in the background, and she instantly dropped the call, leaving Hamilton thrown into an even deeper and more perplexing confusion.

"Lafayette. Mulligan. It's been a long day, but really, really. We should get to work. We need to get him back, let's get this job done." Laf and Mulligan raised their diet cokes half-heartedly.   
"No fucking clue what's really happening, but we got this," Mulligan joked, but every face in the room was shrouded with worry. They didn't know how long it would be, Hamilton felt physically weak being away from Laurens. But he'd have to get used to it, it would be weeks before they were were reunited and weeks of similar sufferings.

*

Laurens' POV

Puerto Rico welcomed Laurens home like a slap across the face. He loved his country; the family he had there, the streets and people and sights and smells were all at the very essence of what made him John Laurens, no doubt. He had missed those colourful flowers, the familiar old hands that welcomed him back with wrinkles that flowed ever deeper, every growing to remind him of just how long he'd been away. The new faces in the neighbourhood he'd visited all his life, the new kids who had come home for the winter, they mirrored that change. And that visit, those few weeks he spent with his Grandma, (his precious Bela had grown so old and frail, in both body and mind, that she couldn't even remember Laurens' name for the first few days, and continuously called him by his mother's name, something which both perplexed and really wounded him), those weeks were tough. 

It was tough to reimagine the country you belong to. He was as much a Brooklyn kid as he was a Puerto Rican, yet this country held so much more purity and homeliness for him. And then it was gone. All the feelings he generally associated with this place were gone, swiped clean to be replaced by the absence of Hamilton. It consumed him, ate at him every moment of every day of those four and a half weeks. He would end up counting every day off like a prisoner. That first day though, was maybe the hardest. He'd cried on the plane ride, all three hours forty-five minutes of it, every part of him crumbling to a shell of the man he had been just that morning. It had taken Jefferson practically nothing to break him, and he prayed that Hamilton was stronger than he was. He knew he was, and besides he had Laf and Mulligan. Laurens had never felt so alone. 

Stepping off the plane was a reality shock. This had all really happened. What had happened? Well the most fine details of that played themselves out over and over again what Laurens would come to distinguish as a recurring nightmare...


	26. The Lion Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this will be expanded on in the next chapter (Laurens' reaction, etc.) - but here it is! Prepare yourself to hate Jefferson more than you already probably do ;)

Even though he'd awoken in a bed without Hamilton, Laurens still felt totally cloaked in his presence, and stayed under those sheets until that piercing buzz of the door shattered the silence and eventually, everything that he'd known. He struggled and was slow to get out of bed, something he knew Hamilton hadn't been able to get his head around at the start of their relationship. That man was hardly real, Laurens thought, smiling to himself. The smile was ripped from his face when Jefferson's voice boomed through the little speaker beside the door. "Laurens? We need to talk. Can you come out here?"  
With the upmost hesitation, he replied, "Right now? What's this about?" The feeling of severe unease had already began to settle solidly in the pit of his stomach. He ran a hand through his hair as he waited for Jefferson's reply, teasing out some of the knots that had gathered there from a good night's sleep. As he did, a headache started just behind his eyes, he pinched and massaged the bridge of his nose, sighing and annoyed that he'd drank the night before.

"It's concerning your family." Jefferson finally exclaimed, his voice quiet, as if he was hiding from someone else or something else. Maybe he thought Hamilton was still in the apartment.   
"What," Laurens said flatly. He wasn't up for games. Unlike Hamilton, who often tiptoed around directly insulting their boss with eloquent language, Laurens wanted always to get straight to the point and be frank with him. Jefferson was an asshole, he didn't regard him as anything above that.   
"You need to talk to me, please. If you want them to ever talk to you again. I don't know if you've already figured it out, or if you've even scratched the surface of what's be happening. You're no fool, John, I know this. So come outside and we can talk about how it is I'm going to bring down Hamilton, or you will both suffer the consequences of not negotiating."

Laurens' chest tightened. This was it. He wanted to run to grab his phone and call Hamilton, even if he was in class he'd understand. He needed to know that something was about to go down and though he didn't know what just yet. "I need to get dressed..."  
"Be quick. I'm serious, Laurens I've already spoken to your parents. Be quick."  
As he stumbled backward, away from the door, the magnitude of these moments started to settle in his mind. They lodged their way in, and he felt as he was sure Hamilton must've for those days when he was completely detached. He felt helpless. 

Thinking that he was returning, he didn't take much, just the clothes he was wearing and his phone. Before he left, he lay a hand on Hamilton's pillow and sighed. He seemed in a trance, as if his thoughts were just beyond reach and he couldn't get a steady grip on them anymore. Everything had been so cemented on honest reality just hours before, now they were spun into something that made Laurens feel disillusioned. Jefferson had already broken Hamilton once. And Hamilton was one of the strongest and defiantly the most intelligent man Laurens had ever known. Just thinking about facing Jefferson without him by his side made Laurens nauseous.

It was snowing lightly when Laurens stepped outside and he cursed himself for wearing inappropriate footwear. He didn't close the door behind him, but Jefferson stepped around him, reaching to pull the handle and close it out.  
"No worry, you won't be returning for a while."  
Laurens was shocked into silence, he just let Jefferson continue talking. And how good he was at talking. It was the only real similarity to Hamilton he held at his disposal, a quality which, despite the person it belonged to, Laurens was grateful for. He wished Hamilton to spontaneously show up, even though he knew that his class was still hours away from finishing. As Jefferson talked, he fiddled with his hair, pushing it out of his face, combing his fingers through it, twirling it around a finger, trying to distract himself from words that he knew could, and would, seal his faith, whatever that was going to be.   
"You see, your parents received a copy of Hamilton's book, Burr's just after delivering it to them. Fine guy, Burr. You know, I think he will be a better lawyer than Hamilton, more distinct and persuasive..."   
Laurens almost laughed. Was Jefferson's grand scheme merely to out him to his parents? 

Yes he was reluctant to tell them, they would meet it with the same type of slight disapproval that they had all of his previous life decisions. But he knew they loved him and they just wanted the best for him. They would come around quick, if they hadn't already and-  
That thought was interrupted by what Jefferson said next. The very sentences that would string it all together in ways far different than what he'd imagined. Somehow, he'd imagined worse, but this was probably as bad as Jefferson could muster without actually breaking laws he cared about breaking. "So. Obviously I messed with the text and now your parents may have a very...unfavourable opinion of Hamilton..." Jefferson smiled, wide and taunting. Every bit of the ill-disposed conspirator he was showed through in that smile. "And what your relationship........is. I may have also had Burr send copies of that altered text to all of your parents close acquaintances ...just because." He winked at him. "So, they want you to get the next plane to Puerto Rico. Right now, I've called us a cab already. I promised them I'd see you to the gates. They don't hate you, Laurens, your parents are very good people, but you've hurt them, you see." Jefferson pulled him closer by the arms, reached over to growl in his ear, "Now you'll know better than ever bringing homosexual filth into my business. Or any business. You lured Hamilton in, in quite the same way I altered Hamilton's text to depict his actions towards you. You've been his downfall, I hope you can see that. And, trust me, I've much worse planned for him to get him out of the picture if you don't take this opportunity to leave. Much. Worse."


	27. Reasoning Behind Silences

Guilt clouded Laurens' entire outlook. He cared for his Bela, making sure that she was comfortable, that she ate and cleaned herself. Though he felt he was getting lost in this taxing work, that cloud never shifted and he often found himself trying to think of the right words to say to Hamilton to ease his mind. He was probably so worried... It had been weeks yet Laurens still hadn't reached out. It wasn't because he was afraid of Jefferson, he was no longer afraid of what that man was capable of. What scared him more was what the initial distance had done to Hamilton. 

Laurens had felt like he was hardly coping, being torn away from everything he thought was becoming a solidly built life. He had imagined growing with Hamilton, watching their careers as they both worked side by side, doing what they believed in and what they were passionate about without the restraints of Jefferson's conditions held over them. He imagined them move uptown or even to the country to be with closer to his parents in their old age. He imagined them growing old similarly, marrying if Hamilton wanted. Of course he never spoke on these things, it was too soon and he had fallen so hard, so quickly, so damningly in love. He wished Hamilton felt the same, but he knew that even if he felt a fraction of that, he'd feel defeated and helpless that he couldn't talk to or find Laurens. He didn't call because it would make everything worse. Hamilton would ask how long, and Laurens would be forced to say he didn't know, that he was holding him back, he might as well find someone else. Laurens imagined how he would break down as he said this, how all these words would just be daggers in both hearts. So he stayed silent, listening to his mother's words when she called. 

She was always upset with what was going on, crying to him about how she hated to see him like this, but it had to be this way, just until things died down. God knows how she justified it. Laurens would never accept nor forgive his parents for so blatantly robbing him of months of his life. But there was guilt when it came to them too, he knew that what they were going through must have seemed paralleled with his suffering, to them. Shame for them was something consuming. The consumption so similar to the loneliness and need that had been planted inside Laurens when he left. 

So he didn't call. He waited. Something he'd never been good at before. As a teenager he'd been so overly conscious of waiting for his life to begin. He didn't want to lose any time, or let hesitation stand in his way of succeeding. But now he was forced to, and those fears ate away at him. He was losing months of his life. In a few years he would come to look back on them and smile, holding close to his heart the memories of those times with Bela. It was hard to cherish them in the moment, with his mind constantly on Hamilton; missing him, his touch, how he smelled, even the annoying habits he had, being overly precise or a little too sensitive. On more than one occasion he sat at the desk in the corner of his room and tried to write down everything he was feeling. But he'd never been one for words quite like Hamilton. Still, over the months he accumulated quite a pile of papers, all repetitive, but all echoing exactly what he was feeling in the moments he was writing. They would make their way to Hamilton's hands eventually, and Laurens would look upon his face as it consistently changed from pained to completely loving, such was the variation of emotion portrayed.

He was sitting at that desk when he phone rang, which generally sat silent and neglected in the kitchen. Bela didn't use it, and Laurens' parents always told him when they'd next call. It startled Laurens so much that he dropped the pen he was holding and froze for a minute. Somehow he knew this was it. When he shook himself of that momentary trance, he hastily stumbled into the kitchen, almost tripping over himself. If the situation were different he would've laughed to himself, his limbs were always, in reality, too lanky to be as graceful as his appearance suggested. There seemed to be an infinite amount of time between when he stood and when he reached the phone, and by then a tight knot had formed in his throat, growing evermore when he realised the number popping up wasn't one he recognised. He didn't even hear Bela call "who is it?," hoarsely from her bed.

Things only became completely clear and seeming closer to reality when he picked up the phone, just before it was about to ring out. Why was he getting so worked up?? He was probably going to be let down, there were so many things that it could be. Maybe a scammer or someone looking for their money or their part in a survey. Anything. Yet he let his heart hope that it was Hamilton, and something in him all along knew it was. Everything felt so surreal because it was. It had been months since Laurens had heard that voice or listened to his words, but he remembered how his tone dipped and rose, he could remember it all, even before words started flooding the line. "Hamilton?" His voice was a whisper, a small question, even if he was already sure. The past few months quickly fell away, they felt completely lost, as if they had never happened, as if he had never been apart from Hamilton.   
"Laurens.." That voice.. Laurens had to pull a chair over to the wall and sit. After months of feeling helpless, hopeless, just that one word, his name, made him feel safer and more sure than he had in what felt like an eternity. 

There was so much to say, Laurens didn't know where to begin with the questions. All he was able to say, tearful and so happy, for the longest minute, was "I love you."


	28. Living Past the Present

"Laurens.." Hamilton's voice came out strained as he repeated Laurens' name, neither of them knowing exactly how to proceed in conversation. "I love you, too..."  
Those three words lifted Laurens even further out of the hopelessness, shifted he cloud that had swarmed his brain. He was getting out. He would be back with Hamilton soon. He knew it. "I've missed you. I'm sorry I haven't called I couldn't....How are you, babe, what's happening? I want to come home to you.." His voice cracked and dipped at that last sentence, the reality of the distance between them hitting him once again. 

"My dearest," emotion tugged at Hamilton's words, they were steeped in longing and sorrow, his tone itself was enough to draw Laurens to the brink of all out sobbing, "I'm going to come for you... Jefferson is being rather uh..he's being an asshole. As always. Your father is being really heavily influenced by what he has to say, he's reading Jefferson's publications every day and.. your mom understands. She's trying to talk to him. He doesn't have a problem with you being gay but he looks up to Jefferson now for advice and...things have changed quite a bit. Not my heart, of course, my heart will always have you. This month has been..really tough. But I'm going to come to you. I'm going to bring you home. I've been taking care of the apartment, I finished the lease on mine and didn't renew it. We'll live together, for real this time.." Laurens could almost hear Hamilton smile.  
"How..how did you get this number. And when, God..it's been so long.." There was nothing in Laurens that didn't feel as though it would fall apart at the slightest touch. Hamilton, coming to rescue him, as though he was a vulnerable puppy. It was true that he was completely lost to his parents' whims, but he didn't care much about what that did to his pride. Hamilton coming to rescue him seemed like the perfect fit, the reasonable solution. It was going to happen all along, he decided. No matter how stupid it sounded, Laurens knew that Hamilton would never have abandoned him. He would've had to intervene. No way would he have just stood still and let the entire world they'd built together disappear. Laurens realised, suddenly, that that's exactly what he had done. He'd let this happen, hadn't fought it.. Maybe it was the pessimist in him, but he'd never been one for letting himself go as he had. Hamilton, the thought of losing him completely, had changed him so much as a person. Love had truly made not only his heart, but his entire being, vulnerable. The only possible way for him to escape both literally and metaphorically- this mindset -was for Hamilton to save him. 

"Your mother gave me your Bela's address and phone number. Two weeks ago. It's pained me so much to keep from calling you, but I had to wait for the right time.. I'm getting the first flight out of JFK tomorrow morning. I've already bought your return ticket, but I gave us a day before that flight departs. You can say your goodbyes to Bela and Puerto Rico, but we'll return, of course. I know it's such a big part of you and I don't want your most recent memories to be this month.. How have you been, Laurens?" Hamilton's words came out quickly, and Laurens had forgotten how his voice sounded when he was in work mode, or excited about something. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed and he felt his stomach unclench. The nervousness he'd felt for the longest time began to decompose, and he could finally breathe a sigh of relief. It was true. He would be home, so soon.  
"I love you so much. Thank you so much, oh my god, Hamilton. I'm so grateful for you. I...have been so helpless. And hopeless. I don't think I can describe myself over the past month as anything but those two things. I needed this, I've needed you.. I don't know how to put into words how much I've missed you..I don't know how I've coped. I don't know how we've coped. It's hard to articulate a months worth of wanting and ...hurt.."   
"You don't need to articulate it. I'll get a taxi to the village early...I'll probably be there for 9AM.. will you be waiting for me?? I have the address but that's it. And Laurens? Will you pack tonight? Just in case things go unfavourably and your father somehow figures out what's going on... Jefferson is more powerful than we thought, too. But I've just condensed things I need to be with you to disclose it all. There's a lot. Babe I have to go, I'm meeting with Lafayette to discuss our ride back from the airport. And I need to pack. I've missed you. God, so much."   
"Okay... can you call later?"  
"I'll try."  
"I love you. I'll be waiting."  
"Not long and I'll be holding to again."  
Tears that seemingly came from no where spilled over Laurens' cheeks when he heard those words, soon to be truth. "Not long," he repeated, bottom lip trembling. Crying with happiness had been something he'd long forgotten the feeling of.   
"Get some rest. If I don't get to call later, I'll see you in the morning. Time is tight I may have to go straight to the airport after Laf's."  
"I will. I love you, Hamilton."  
"Love you, Laurens."

Laurens didn't leave his perch on the seat by the phone for an hour after the line went dead. He'd hung the phone back up and stared at his hands, a small smile spreading across his features and warming him to the core. Jefferson hadn't won. No matter what Hamilton meant about him being "more powerful," he'd lost this one. Their love was stronger than all he'd thrown at them so far, and Laurens was resolute in the knowledge that all he would ever throw at them would be just as futile. Their love would win time and time again. Hamilton was coming to get him. He was going home. He could finally breathe.


End file.
